


Fairies to be Found on the Island of Fejø

by MillieBates



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fairy AU, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Historical Accuracy, M/M, fairy norway, somewhat historical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-12 16:11:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 27,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5672119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MillieBates/pseuds/MillieBates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikkel still couldn't believe his luck. His mind was racing from the daydreams, hopes, and wishes he had for himself now that he'd discovered a magical being. He would surely be the most famous scientist in the world. But what about the fairy? He couldn't have been the only fairy that existed. (Denmark x Norway AU)(Contains SOME romance, but I didn't put romance as the genre.) (This is also posted on FF.net)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Chapter

**Author's Note:**

> Please enjoy.

Once, in the beginning of the twentieth century in a large city up North, there lived a scientist named Mikkel. In the large city, he attended university, studying to his heart's content until he could study no more and he was ready to write his own novels.

Mikkel studied natural science, his favorite subject being insects. As a child he loved insects and would beg his mother not to step on them when they wandered into their house. "Take it out, Mikkel. I do not want to find it upstairs in your bedroom!" She would yell. Mikkel was an obedient child, but he drew the line at certain insects such as caterpillars, moths, and butterflies.

Butterflies were his favorite. There was nothing more radiant in the springtime than a butterfly trying to find its favorite flower in the patch. They were innocent creatures who brought nothing but good, and from the moment he could hold one in his palm, he knew he wanted to study them for the rest of his life. And study he did. Mikkel studied until his eyes watered and his stomach churned from lack of food.

It was his goal to write the most informative novel on the butterfly than anyone had written before. To achieve this goal, he was spending his first summer out of school at his uncle's vacation home on the island of Fejø. The house was currently out of use and there was a village nearby where he could buy supplies, although he was hoping that he wouldn't have to go into the village often. This trip was purely for research, nothing more.

As he'd been fortunate, he had the money necessary to sustain himself and then some. Buying a train ticket was as simple as buying a loaf of bread. When he arrived in the small village, he was pleased to find friendly citizens and a carriage driver willing to take him to his uncle's house. In the city, they had buggies. That had become the preferred transportation. In the country, there were no automobile dealers or market for them, only stables and shops that sold buckets of ripe-smelling horse feed, bicycles, and carts.

The ride was bumpy, but not prolonged as he thought it would be. The house looked just as it did when he had visited as a child, although the siding was cracked in places and was beginning to peel. The windows were covered in a sheen of dust. The inside remained untouched. The old furniture was covered in stained white sheets that Mikkel removed immediately, folded up, and placed in an old wardrobe in the bedroom.

The house wasn't especially nice due to lack of care, but it served its purpose well. It was smaller than what Mikkel was used to. There was only a single bedroom upstairs, a large main room, a room for storage, and an indoor bathroom that his uncle had just recently put in for his trips to the summer home he took in the middle of winter. Mikkel smiled as he looked over the house, now clean and bright as he remembered it to be.

Before he began his work, which he planned on beginning immediately, he boiled a kettle of tea on the stove and unpacked the food he'd brought from the city. He hoped it would be enough. As he silently drank the tea, he roamed outside, contented with the fields of flowers. Past the flowers was a recently dug well, and beyond that was the sea.

Mikkel grabbed his notepad, one of the folding chairs he knew his uncle kept in the shed in the back, and set it up outside, sitting and watching a few of the insects that flew around. This particular day was sunny, but the wind was whipping around. A few of the creatures were having trouble with their flight. Mikkel had to smile at their misfortune, even writing a little note saying, _"It must be very difficult to have wings on a windy day."_

This would not be recorded into his novel, of course. The butterflies were plentiful, but they didn't come close. When Mikkel spotted one close enough to sketch its appearance, it flew away with another strong gust of wind. _Damn that wind,_ he thought. Staying in the field was becoming useless, but he had another idea.

Mikkel, using one of his uncles rusty shovels from the shed, dug up a few flowers, roots and all, and potted them in a china bowl from the kitchen, the only thing he could find that seemed to suffice. He placed the flowers in the windowsill where he could watch the butterflies without them blowing away. He watched from the side of the window, not directly in front, and he was sneaky about it, not wanting to scare away any of the creatures.

All day he sat there, watching the few butterflies that stopped by, drawing pictures of them, making notes, catching one under a glass to examine it closer before releasing it again. If there was one thing he didn't believe in, it was keeping insects. Of course he'd collected them as a child. He kept them pinned to a piece of cardboard on his wall. But they were found dead, not killed. Usually. There were times when he'd wandered off his path and felt as though one butterfly was too beautiful to get rid of. But this one was a very simple monarch, and keeping it was useless.

Mikkel went to bed that night, but was not sleepy. He was eager for the next day. When the next day came, he did it all over again. He watched the butterflies, wrote about them, drew them, captured a deceased one he'd found on the side of the house, and examined it under a microscope. "Sorry," he said as he used a tiny pick to open the body. When he could see inside the butterfly, he scribbled out what he saw. It was difficult to see, even with the microscope, but this was a successful day.

The next day was similar. And the next. Soon, a week had passed and the weather had turned gloomy. Rain fell around noon. It fell in thick sheets, slamming into the bobbing flowers and banging loudly into the glass windows on the front of the house. The back windows in the back were facing the direction of the rain and it wasn't necessary to close them. No butterflies were out. They were safely tucked away wherever it was that butterflies went when it rained.

Mikkel started a fire in the stove and began to boil a few eggs for lunch, pouring himself a glass of wine from the cabinets. He sat down in a rocking chair next to the window again, watching the clouds grow dark as night, the only light in them being streaks of lightning that were followed by bellowing thunder that nearly shook the house. The rain was turning into a storm, and he decided that shutting the window would be best.

The man picked up the potted flowers and moved them to the table, then shut the window and closed the curtains. He lit a few lamps, grabbed a glass full of water, and poured a fair share into the bowl the flowers were in. To gain the company of the butterflies, the flowers needed to be in their prime condition. With a pocketknife, he began to cut away any dead or dying part of the plant. For this bunch of flowers, there was a dead one in the back, sick from stem to blossom. The stem was thick and to cut through it, he wrapped his fingers around the top, near the petals.

Mikkel felt something writhe in his palm and the powerful flutter of wings, and he drew his hand back. There was an insect on the flowers, although he didn't know what kind. It felt more like a bird, perhaps. It was either a bird or a very large butterfly. He almost didn't want to know, but if it was a butterfly, then he would be making one of the biggest scientific discoveries in years. With a slow and steady breath, he turned the pot around, putting his glasses back on to see if this was truly a butterfly.

When his eyes focused and he could see the creature, he drew back in such a state of surprise, shock, awe, and fear that he nearly lost his footing. This was no bug or bird. This was no creature he'd ever seen in his entire life, but he'd read about them. As a child he'd dreamed of them, hoped with all of his heart that they were real, because if they were, then magic was real, and all children wanted magic to exist.

"I've lost my mind," he said at last, the only reasonable reaction he could think of upon seeing a small fairy clutching onto a flower and watching him. "You aren't real, are you, fairy?" He said with a shaky laugh. Mikkel reached out to touch the fairy, but the creature drew back immediately and flew to the window, slamming into it like a fly, although without an exoskeleton, it hurt the creature and it fell onto the windowsill. It began to rub its shoulder, knowing now that it had been hurt.

Mikkel walked over to it, microscope shaking in his hand as he held it up to its face. It backed away, closed its eyes, and let out a noise that sounded like metal on metal, like the pendulum of a bell clinking against the shell of the instrument. The noise was high-pitched, much like a squeak. The face of the fairy looked very human, but the nose was more petite and it curved up, like a delicate figurine. The body had the proportions of a young man, but one who was slender. The form was both feminine and masculine in many ways, though if Mikkel was going to call this fairy anything, this was a male.

"If I am dreaming, and I am sure I am, then this is a very good dream," he murmured to the fairy, who only watched him blankly, his fear lessening as he stood up and tried to push away the microscope with a noise of disdain. "Oh, my apologies! Do you speak? Can you understand me?"

The fairy turned and started banging on the window, letting out a prolonged squeak that Mikkel recognized as a scream. "Oh, no! No, no, it's okay! It's okay!" He smiled reassuringly, picked up the fairy in his hand, and tried to comfort the creature. "I'm kind! I'm very kind! I'm not going to hurt you! Food… I bet you would like some food!" The creature let out another squeak, but this one was trembling and he saw small tears on his cheeks and he began to panic as he feverishly sliced a cherry into pieces. "Here we go! Here," he said, handing the creature a thin cherry slice about as big as his fingertip.

With another quiet noise, the fairy took the cherry slice, brought it to his face, then pulled it away and looked at Mikkel, who smiled wider. The creature took a bite, then sat down in his hand and continued to eat. The fairy wasn't terribly small. He must have been five inches tall. Mikkel could see that he was a very messy eater, and even more concerning, he had sharp canine teeth for biting. While he was distracted with the fruit, Mikkel used the microscope again, looking at the wings.

Despite all of the fairy tales he'd read where fairy wings were similar to the wings of butterflies, they were not similar at all. They were something completely different. They were slightly frayed on the ends and an off-white colour. They were wispy wings, almost translucent with red and blue veins pulsing through them. It reminded him of his own wrist. He reached out and softly poked a wing, which earned him a glare and a murmur.

This was an amazing discovery for Mikkel. He grinned when he realized that this was the biggest discovery in this millennium. Well, he believed it to be, at least. Without a second thought, he grabbed his notepad and his pencil, and began to scribble a sketch of the fairy. The fairy seemed to notice and climbed onto the notepad, staring at the image before trying to take the pencil. Mikkel watched with amazement. "It's too big for someone so small! Wait," he said. He cut a piece of lead off of the pencil tip and gave it to the fairy, who began to draw on the page.


	2. The Second Chapter

A child could have done a better drawing than the one the fairy did. It was clear that it was supposed to be a wolf, but it had a round, fat body, and stick legs. When the creature looked up from it, he pointed to his own teeth, then to the jagged teeth scratched into the open mouth of the wolf. Mikkel nodded, not understanding the importance. "Yes, the wolf has very sharp teeth. Did you see an animal like that out there?"

The fairy nodded, then started drawing again. This time, he was drawing flowers. When he finished the first one, Mikkel watched him kneel down and smell the paper, as if he expected it to smell like what he'd drawn. It was one of the most curious things he'd seen. With the newly sharped pencil, he wrote down what he'd witnessed. _The fairy has drawn a flower. He has leaned down to smell it. He thought it would smell like a flower does!_

The fairy looked disappointed when all he could smell was the paper. He threw the lead down and flew up to Mikkel's face, looking it over. The man gave an uncomfortable smile, which didn't satisfy the fairy, who flew closer and began tugging on Mikkel's lips. From what Mikkel could feel, he was trying to open his mouth. When his lips parted, the fairy flew away quickly, watching him from behind the microscope. When Mikkel stayed still, the fairy came back, looking into his mouth. He made a soft noise and reached inside, touching one of Mikkel's canine teeth. He did this very reluctantly.

"Wha' are ya do'n?" He asked, the small arm still in the front of his mouth. The fairy squeaked again and pulled his arm out, deciding that Mikkel wouldn't be a threat, although he had never seen a man before in his short life. "Ah. I'm sure you're inside because of the rain, aren't you? I wonder if you have a name! You look like a… like a…"

The fairy watched the man as he seemed to ramble on. "Like a Lukas. I think that's an appropriate name for you! I'm Mikkel. I doubt you can even understand me."

The creature hung his head to the side, backing away from Mikkel slightly and sitting back down on the notepad. Mikkel continued writing about him, smiling as he watched Lukas' facial expressions. So far, he seemed to be in a constant state of disapproval and upset. Without warning, he shoved Mikkel's pencil and began squeaking again, whining about something.

"What is it?" The man asked. Lukas rubbed his shoulder, keening. He was bruising from the run in with the glass window. Mikkel pitied him. "I see. I wish I had some ice for you," he said, looking through his cabinet until he found a little box of medicine. "I think this will help!" He chimed. Mikkel opened up a small tub of ointment, covering the bruise in the cream until it was rubbed in and slowly drying. Lukas seemed to be grateful for the relief and he laid down on the paper, closing his eyes. "Are you sleeping?"

The only reply was another keen. The fairy then fell asleep on the paper, no longer fearing his surroundings. Mikkel covered him with a clean tea towel, tucking an edge beneath his head for a pillow. While he was sleeping, the man thought it would be the perfect opportunity to sketch him in better detail, his face in particular.

Mikkel still couldn't believe his luck. His mind was racing from the daydreams, hopes, and wishes he had for himself now that he'd discovered a magical being. He would surely be the most famous scientist in the world. But what about the fairy? He couldn't have been the only fairy that existed. There must have been a way they reproduced. Perhaps he had a mother, father, brothers and sisters. Still, Mikkel noticed how undeveloped the fairy was, much like a child who was still learning which shoe went on the right foot.

In stories, it was written that there were fairy courts, circles, and civilizations. But this didn't seem to be the case. If there was a home for this fairy with other fairies, it wasn't developed well. Mikkel could have been getting ahead of himself, something he tended to do, but there were examples of what led him to believe that the fairy was less developed than a human.

First was the incident with the window. No human would have ran into the glass as he did. Second, the fairy was content when given food, and when he did eat food, he ate like a little savage, not like a human should. Third, he had tried to smell a flower that he'd drawn himself. Any sort of people who believed that a drawn flower could have a scent were undeveloped and unintelligent. It was essential to note that while the creature had the appearance of a miniature human, his mannerisms were a far cry from those of a human.

When the fairy awoke an hour later, he stretched and sauntered over to Mikkel, who was sitting at the table with a piece of bread in his hand. His small eyes were stuck on him, he soon noticed. "Did you sleep well?" The fairy didn't answer, but his wings fluttered and he stepped closer, his face remaining untouched by his words. Mikkel cleared his throat, watching his eyes as they shifted to the piece of bread, then back to his face.

"You want a piece of bread?"

The fairy chimed and nodded, a small smile (in every meaning of the word "small"), graced his lips and he held a hand out for his share. When Mikkel placed a small piece into his hand, Lukas whined and shoved his wrist. There was no way to be sure of what the fairy wanted. His small voice tinkled and he gave the man's wrist a harsh kick. Mikkel wasn't hurt, but he could feel that was supposed to be a painful kick and he was offended. "What do you want, Lukas? What's the matter?"

Instead of answering, Lukas looked around the room, spotting a dish and flying over to it, peering inside. With a look of delight he reached in and scooped out a handful of pale yellow butter. He smeared it onto the bread in a vulgar manner, then proceeded to lick the excess off of his hand.

"Now, that's not in good taste! Well, it might be in good _taste,_ " he said with a small laugh as he picked up the fairy. "But it is not sophisticated! You wash your hands." Once the fairy finished his bread, Mikkel took him over to a wash bowl, poured out a little water from the pitcher, and sliced off a small block of soap for the fairy, who stared at the bowl of water with a disappointed look. "Ah, this is a bit big," he said. Mikkel searched for something smaller, finding a lid and using it for the water. "Now, pick up the soap first."

Lukas watched as Mikkel lifted a light green bar of soap. He did the same with his piece, watching intently. Mikkel dipped the soap into the water, then pulled it out. Lukas followed, smelling the soap once it was soaked, and beginning to take a bite out of the chunk. "No, no! No… you can't eat this! Do NOT eat this!"

Mikkel was frighteningly serious. The fairy began to cry for the second time that day. A wail erupted from the back of his throat and he laid down, throwing a fit.

"Hm? Oh, don't cry! We'll have none of that," Mikkel told him. When the fairy remained on the table with tears rolling down his cheeks, the man gently poked his leg. Lukas mewled, a dramatic tone in that small voice of his. "I think you're throwing a fit," admitted the man. "Please stand up and pick up the soap again. Please?"

The fairy heard his pleading and it moved him, but he was unaware of the reason why it was moving. He stood up again, wiped his tears, clutched the soap, and watched Mikkel expectantly. The man smiled and rubbed the soap between his hands, minding as Lukas did the same. Mikkel set the soap back in its dish and lathered the soap, rubbing it into his hands. "You see, this is the cleaning part! You are removing all of the bacteria for your health. This is what humans do to keep from getting sick!"

Lukas followed along, making the soap bubbly and staring at the suds. He rubbed the foam on his cheek, then squeezed it in his hands, watching it plop onto the table and begin to seep through a crack. He cheeped gently, picking up what was left of the suds and watching the man again, although Mikkel had been watching him with great interest the entire time.

"Uh, yes! Yes, we must continue. We rinse our hands off in the water. Like this!" He exclaimed to the other. The water was cool on Mikkel's hands, but it was refreshing. Despite the rain that still poured, the air was warm and sticky. The fairy didn't seem to care about the cold water, either. He rinsed off his hands in the water filled lid, then held them up to Mikkel with a blank expression. Mikkel picked up a towel, dried his hands, then his own. "That is all there is to it! You can clean your hands whenever they're dirty from now on."

The fairy flew speedily over to the butter again, smearing his hands in the spread, then flew back over and washed his hands by himself, pride etched across his face. Mikkel laughed and wrote in his notepad of his experience teaching the fairy how to wash his hands, a very enjoyable experience for him.

The day passed away soon, and the fairy spent his time exploring things in the main room while Mikkel observed and recorded what he saw. By night, the fairy flew back to the windowsill and pressed his hands against the glass, but sadly, the rain hadn't stopped and Mikkel had to close the curtains again.

"I'm sorry. If you would like to leave, you may, but it's still raining and I'm afraid for your wings," he told him, ushering him away from the glass. Lukas must have agreed, because he sat down on the sofa and held his face in his hands. Mikkel sat beside him, patting his head with one finger, despite the creature shying away. "Do you want dinner? I bet you're hungry."

Food spoke to Lukas and he looked up, nodding. Mikkel stood, boiled coffee, and boiled potatoes and whatever meat he'd managed to keep so far. He was no chef, but he was able to sustain himself. He could tell Lukas was a little upset and sliced strawberries for him, heating the pieces in a pot with sugar and cinnamon. When he gave him the small plate of food, he ate messily, whereas Mikkel was very careful and mannerly.

Lukas noticed the way Mikkel ate slowly and wiped his mouth with a towel after a particularly messy bite. He swallowed a steaming piece of potato, took a sip of water, and tried to eat like Mikkel was eating. With etiquette. It was challenging because he had no utensils. When Mikkel noticed he was eating slower and more elegantly, he understood his attempt and stood to find something for him to use. Ultimately, he had to cut the point off of a needle and let the fairy use the eye to prod the food with. There was no time for anything else.

Lukas held the end of the needle in his hand, confused as to how it was supposed to work. When Mathias took the piece of metal from him and skewered a strawberry piece, Lukas nodded and began to eat. Mikkel drew the fairy between his bites, portraying him trying to eat like a human would for the first time. He held the needle like a child would hold a spoon, though, and chewed with his mouth open.

Mikkel nearly scolded him for it, but the food in his mouth was too small to see and the sloppy chewing made no sound. The fairy finished his food and leaned back against a china vase, humming to himself. Mikkel tried to hear what he was humming, but Lukas stopped when the man leaned in. _Likes to hum,_ he wrote.


	3. The Third Chapter

The fairy stood up, pulling on the end of Mikkel's notepad until he could see what the man was writing. The words meant nothing to him, but a drawing of himself at the top of the page caught his attention. The creature traced the pencil marks with the tip of his finger. "You," Mikkel spoke, pointing out the fairies dainty hair curl in the drawing.

The fairy chirped something, and Mikkel watched him, amazed. "Did you try to speak?" He questioned, moving towards Lukas. In his ear he heard, "You."

_You._ The word was simple, but hearing it from Lukas made him snort from laughter. "You! You said you!"

"You?" The fairy said quizzically. Mikkel nodded, patted his head, and said, "Good! Very good!"

Lukas' high-pitched voice continued running over the word. It was impossible to hear him from more than six feet away, but that was okay. His voice was too insignificant to travel far. For the entirety of the evening, he practiced the word. Mikkel lit all of the lamps in the house, sat in front of one, and coloured the fairy with watercolour paints. When Lukas noticed, he pointed at the illustration and said, "You," yet he pointed at himself.

"No, you say 'me'. Me."

"Me," he repeated, pointing to himself again. "Me. You?"

The man tenderly took his wrist between his fingers, pointing the fairy's hand towards his own self and saying, "Me. Me."

"Me. Me," he repeated, gesturing at the illustration as well this time. Mikkel brightened at the others words. The fairy pointed at Mikkel next, saying, "You?"

Another amazing discovery for the fairy. Mikkel had to pause their makeshift lesson to record this groundbreaking moment. _Is picking up language very well! One day in and he understands_ _you, food, me, and perhaps more!_

"That is right! Also, Mikkel. Mikkel," he exclaimed to Lukas. On the page he wrote his name out, saying the syllables slowly until at last, the fairy said, "Mikkel. Mikkel. Mikkel…" He continued, then his face lit up, his eyes widened, but almost as soon as his expression changed, it turned back to its usual apathetic state. He flew around the room, pointing at items. Each time, Mikkel gave him a new word to repeat.

"Candle!"

"Candle."

"Blanket!"

"Blanket."

"Fire!"

"Fire."

They continued for hours, and Mikkel was exhausted. The fairy always found something new to point at. The man could only blame himself for Lukas' excitement. It was him who decided to give the other coffee. Before long, he interrupted him with a yawn and told him, "It is too late. I need to rest. But we can begin again in the morning!"

The man, being the scholarly type that he was, chose not to discuss a sunny, rain-less day tomorrow, which would mean that the fairy would no longer need to stay with him. As guilty as he felt about it, and truly, he did, Mikkel didn't intend on releasing the fairy. But it wasn't for his own selfish ambition, it was for science. The fairy, just like any creature, required studying.

Lukas didn't catch on. He was oblivious to why Mikkel would want to keep him. Between friend or foe, Mikkel was a friend. There was no reason for the fairy to believe otherwise. The man had given him a place to stay during the storm, food, and was giving him a way to view and communicate his world. Now, whenever he wanted bread, he didn't have to pout and whine, he could say, "bread." That, to him, was wonderful.

When Mikkel said he wanted to rest, Lukas didn't quite understand. He flew into Mikkel's room, watching the man light a lamp. Mikkel didn't notice the fairy, and when he turned to see him hovering in the doorway, he was startled. "If you'll pardon me, I have to change out of my clothes."

The fairy was steadfast. He was unable to grasp the situation. With a graceless smile, Mikkel captured the fairy in his hand and took him back to the main room. Before he could fly back into the bedroom, he slammed the door shut.

Lukas leaned on the door at the bottom, wailing and pressing his cheek to the wood. In his mind, Mikkel had left him out for the entire night and would completely forget about him. "Mikkel, Mikkel, Mikkel!"

The man pressed his ear to the door, listening to him whine. "Oh, just a moment!" He scrambled to undress. He was unsure if he should put nightclothes on. He'd only brought one pair and didn't actually intend on wearing them because he was sure he'd be alone. Now that he had company, he decided to slide on the pants, at least. The fairy was trying to sneak under the door because Mikkel could see his leg. "Lukas, stop that! I'm coming. Please be patient."

When he opened the door, the fairy flew inside and sat down on the pillow, clinging onto it as if Mikkel was going to kick him out at any moment. The man laughed, sat down on the bed, and picked Lukas up. "You're so silly!"

"Me…," he started, looking around like he was going to find the rest of his sentence on the wall somewhere, "so silly."

" _I_ _am_ so silly," he corrected. Lukas huffed, but said, "I am so silly."

"Good! When you talk about you, say 'I'. For example, I," he said, gesturing to himself, "am tired."

"I… you, are tired."

"Very, very good!" In the dimly lit room, Mikkel searched for another notepad and another pencil. _He is learning! On the first day, he has learned to say a proper sentence! The creature is capable of—_

Mikkel stopped writing. Lukas was intelligent. He could learn that Mikkel was keeping him here and would learn ethics, just like a child. The man faced a moral dilemma. Should he continue to teach Lukas, or stop and keep him uneducated? Knowledge was more powerful than anything, he'd always strongly believed that. To deny the creature knowledge. To deny the fairy, the fairy that very well could have been a miniature, benighted human, would be corrupt.

The one thing he feared above all else was developing an attachment. With the insects he studied, there was no attachment. When he released one, there was no torment, no distress, and no yearning for the beings to return. That was one of the best things about studying them. Of course when one of them died or he accidentally killed it, he would be disappointed and sorry that he'd made a mistake, but he never dwelled on it for over ten seconds.

With the fairy, there was no room for mistakes. He was delicate, just like a little flower. There was no dropping him on the floor from the table and picking him back up. If he dropped a book on him, there was no exoskeleton for protection. Lukas' shoulder was already bruised. Mikkel would have to handle him with care from now on.

"Mikkel."

He looked up, smiled, and folded a clean shirt, setting it on the table next to his bed. In the closet were a few strips of tattered fabric, most likely from his Aunt's last sewing session in the house, and they worked for blankets. "You sleep on the shirt there."

Lukas looked at Mikkel, then the shirt, and surprisingly, he began to whine again. "No," he muttered to the man.

"No? What do you mean? You don't want to sleep?"

Lukas shook his head, then fluttered down onto Mikkel's pillow, laying down close to the center and saying, "blanket." Mikkel started to protest, but the fairy looked like he was already nearly asleep and he decided to let it be. He laid down beside him, and even attempted to put his head on what little pillow there was, but the fairy keened and pushed on his cheek. "Alright, alright," he whispered, blowing out the lamp and wadding up a blanket for a second pillow.

Despite the lumpy pillow, Mikkel slept well, but had a rude awakening when he felt something crawling on his neck. In his haze, he'd forgotten that the fairy was with him and he thought it was a rat, and it was his instinct to sit up and cup the front of his neck, but the fairy was unharmed. He had only been pressed to the man's neck a little too close for comfort. "Mikkel, no," the fairy said, kicking his throat. The man released him with a groan, clutched his throat, and his face turned red as he coughed.

"Lukas, that wasn't good! Let's… let's not kick so much anymore!"

Lukas flew over to the table, fearful of Mikkel while he was angry. When the man seemed calm, Lukas flew over to his shoulder and perched atop it, holding onto his ear. "Food," he said. "I am food."

"I _want_ food," Mikkel corrected, stumbling into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. "I hope you enjoy eggs! I am certainly not the best cook," he told him with a chuckle. He cracked a few eggs onto the pan, watching them cook and groaning when he flipped one and the yolk broke. "Damn!"

"Damn.'

"Don't say that!"

"You say that, Mikkel," the fairy replied simply, watching the yolk poor out of the egg and onto the hot pan. But Mikkel wasn't thinking about the egg anymore. He was thinking about Lukas and how smoothly he was speaking already. "You're learning very quickly," he mumbled. The man removed a lid from a bottle of medicine, rinsed it, and piled Lukas' food onto it like a dish. "Here you are!"

The fairy smelled the food, then took a large bite of an egg white. He would have loved to scarf the food down, but he was attempting to be mannerly again.

"Do you like the eggs?"

"The eggs," he mocked, jabbing the egg piece with his finger. "The eggs… is—"

"The eggs _are—"_

"The eggs are eggs. The eggs are flowers. The eggs are flowers," he announced merrily. Mikkel looked at the eggs, not understanding. "Flowers? Show me how the eggs are flowers. How? Flowers… are NOT eggs."

Lukas shoved the plate away with a haughty breath and plucked a petal from the flowers on the kitchen table. "Flowers ARE eggs," he retorted, sliding a white petal under the egg and comparing the two. "Egg. Flower. Egg. Flower."

Mikkel's face lit up and he cried, "They're both white! White is a colour. Oh, I could teach colours!" He clambered around until he found his watercolours. On a new piece of paper, he wrote _Colours._ Lukas chewed on a piece of toast contently, watching Mikkel's hand move to draw out some kind of word. "Colours," he told him.

"Colours."

First was a red stroke. "Red. Roses are red. Apples are often red. Ladybugs are red. Blood is red… perhaps that one is too morbid. Orange. What's orange? The sunset is orange. Monarch butterflies are orange. This flower on the teacup is orange. Yellow. The wheat is yellow. Butter is yellow. My hair is…" He continued through every colour, and with each example he gave, he drew a picture of it.

Lukas stared at the paper for a while. His eyes were busy with each example and each word. After the lesson, he began to point at things, announcing their colours aloud and asking questions. Some of the things, though, Mikkel couldn't even explain. Like shadows on the floor and colours that looked like blue but weren't _quite_ blue, and the aura around a candle must have had a colour, too, because Lukas asked for it.

"Colour is caused by light. Light," he said at last, pointing to a lit candle. "Without light, there is no colour. When the light goes out, everything turns black."

Perhaps the lessons were putting strain on Lukas, because he moaned and laid on the sofa, burying his face into the cushion. "Colour. Colour. Sofa is red. Shadow is… light."

"Shadow is absence of light."

"Huh?"

"No light."

"No light," he mumbled. Mikkel closed his book and sat beside him. His little mind was wandering, he could tell.

"Water."

Mikkel's eyebrows furrowed. "Water?" He questioned. "Would you like water?"

Lukas flew over to the window, looking outside. The clouds were still overhead, but the rain had stopped sometime before the sun rose. The fairy gave an excited huff and turned to Mikkel, flying to him and tugging on his finger, elated to see that there was no more rain to hinder him. "Mikkel! Window," he urged. Mikkel swallowed thickly, allowing himself to be pulled along.


	4. The Fourth Chapter

Mikkel wasn't quite ready to let Lukas leave. There was still so much he didn't know about the life of fairies. When he wrote his novel, he needed to know where they came from, what purpose they served, how they managed to sustain themselves, why they were so allusive. "Lukas, perhaps you should stay a while longer," he suggested. The words were supposed to sound tender. Instead they were uneasy.

"I want flowers."

"I could bring flowers inside if you'd like! I'm a reasonable man."

Never in his life had Mikkel heard a creature wail as Lukas began to. His sobs could bring the hardest criminal to their knees. "Flowers," he said. "I want flowers, Mikkel," he wept. Mikkel hurriedly unlocked the window. As someone morally sound, this made his heart ache. But as a scientist, he still wasn't ready to release the fairy.

"If you leave, you won't be able to have good food anymore. No food."

Lukas' eyes widened. No food. _No food._ He recalled how difficult it was to obtain a beech nut, the sour taste of apples that weren't ripe, and the memories made him sick. "Food. Yes, food. Yes, Mikkel," he agreed. "Flowers. I want flowers."

"I thought you were going to stay here?"

Lukas pressed his face against the window, sighing. "Huh?"

"Stay. Here. Here is where _we_ , you and I, are. We are here. The house."

"I want flowers," he said once again. Mikkel let out a noise of frustration. "If I let you go out to see the flowers, I would prefer to accompany you."

Lukas shrugged, tugged on the window lock, and said, "If?"

"If, as in _perhaps._ As in, I will open this door," he said, gripping the doorknob, " _If_ I can touch your wing, for example."

The fairy didn't understand, but nodded when he saw the others hand on the doorknob. When Mikkel opened it and the fairy peered outside, Mikkel captured him very carefully, touched his wing, and released him. "If," he said simply. "If I open the door, I touch your wing."

Lukas muttered "if" as he buzzed around the field of flowers, smelling them with a soft smile. "The flower. Flowers. The flower is. Flowers are. The flower is white. The flower is red. The flowers are white. The flowers are red. The flowers are…" He began to hum as he buried his face into a petal. "The flowers are…"

"Beautiful," Mikkel suggested.

"Beautiful. Beautiful flowers. Flowers are beautiful. Flowers are light. Flowers are…" He stroked a petal, lulling to it with a soft, smooth voice. "They are…" In a sing song voice, he repeated, "Flowers are, flowers are," and Mikkel understood what he was saying. They were the lullaby he was making up. He didn't know how, but they were, and Lukas wasn't wrong.

"Lovely, soft, pretty, delicate, radiant," he listed off. Lukas clutched to the stem of a daisy, nuzzling a yellow petal. "Delicate. Radiant," he told the flower, swaying back and forth on it. "The flowers are radiant. The house is lovely. The… Mikkel is… green."

"Green?" Mikkel laughed, sitting down on a damp chair and looking out towards the sea. "Green. I have never been called green!"

He began humming again, but the tone was different. There were huffs and sighs, like a lament, and he repeated, "Mikkel is green. Mikkel is green. He is no flower." There was a faint smile on the fairies lips again. "He is no flower."

"Are you being cruel to me?"

"Being cruel to Mikkel," he said. "Mikkel is no flower."

"What am I?"

Lukas slid down a stem, hugging it tightly and not responding for a moment. "Mikkel. You… are?"

"Very good! You are. Continue!"

The fairy splashed into a puddle, making a mess of himself but not caring. "You are fire. Mikkel is fire. You are the fire." The man was no longer smiling, but watching curiously. He had stopped writing completely. "The fire?" He said quietly. "I am the fire?"

"The blanket and fire." His eyes narrowed as if he was thinking, then he said, "The…" He froze up, looked down, and was humming again. There was dirt on his legs all the way up to his thighs now. "Mikkel, the fire. The… " He whined, touching his head like he was trying to think of something. "The... " without warning, he slapped his own arm hard, raising a red welt. "The! The! The!"

"The burn. The pain," he said, wincing to prove his point. "Ah! The burn?"

"The blanket."

Mikkel was rubbing his head now. "The warmth?" Lukas stared at him, not responding. Mikkel set his notepad down, pretended to feel warmth from a fire, and pretended to shiver. "Warmth. And cold. Warm and cold. Fire is warm. Snow is cold."

"Warmth. The blanket is warmth? You are warmth."

The man stared at the other. Never in his life had he been called something so strange as "warmth". It sounded like a compliment. He personally considered warmth to be a good thing. "Why warmth?"

"Why? Why. Warmth is," he stopped talking and just sighed heavily, but a joyful sigh, like someone relaxing in their bed. Whether it was a compliment or an insult, Mikkel smiled and said, "Thank you."

The fairy flew over to him, landing on his knee. Muddy footprints stained his slacks. Lukas didn't seem to notice, and if he did, he didn't care. "I don't think it is very good to be so messy," Mikkel stated. The other looked at him strangely, not understanding what it meant to be messy. When Mikkel tried to brush the dirt off of his knee, Lukas thought he understood. He tried to wipe off the half-dried mud, but it only made his hands dirty. "Mikkel," he said. "Clean. I want clean. The clean."

"I want to clean. More specifically, I want to clean myself. Or you could say I want to wash myself."

"I want to clean. I want to wash myself," he repeated. Mikkel nodded and took him inside as soon as the grey clouds grew darker. It looked as though it would rain again. Mikkel couldn't say he was disappointed by the weather. It was more reason to keep the fairy.

"Washing is very simple. You remove your clothing and wash. Well," The man looked Lukas over. "You are wearing clothing, aren't you? Or is this how you naturally occur?"

For emphasis, Mikkel took off his suspenders. "Clothing," he told him. "Are you wearing clothing?"

The fairy reached for his neck, dug his fingertips around what looked like a piece of grass wrapped around it, and pulled. When the green blade began to lift, it made a disgusting sound, like tape being removed from something soft. Like something slick and sticky. Lukas' face looked pained and he stopped. "No, Mikkel."

Mikkel held onto the fairies back, pulled him forward, and examined his neck with a microscope. "This might sting," he said, pulling on the grass blade with his silver forceps, watching what reminded him of a human nail being removed, and seemingly just as painful, painful enough that as soon as he realized that the grass-like wrappings on the creatures body were part of him, he stopped.

"My God," he whispered, excitedly taking notes in his journal. _The fairy doesn't wear clothing, but has an outer layer of plant life for protection. Upon removal, it is painful for the fairy and similar to the removal of a human nail. It is unknown whether or not the plant comes from within the fairy or has grown onto it._

Lukas rubbed his neck, kicking the forceps away and yelling, "You are the burn!"

"Oh, right! I'm sorry, Lukas. I'm sorry!"

_I'm sorry,_ the fairy thought. Staying angry was challenging when Mikkel was saying those words. "Yes, you _are_ sorry," the fairy sassed. Mikkel smiled in relief. Having the fairy on his side was crucial for proper development. "Yes, yes, of course! Now, what were we doing?"

"Clean."

"Cleaning! I recall. You do not undress, I suppose, but you should wash well. First, we boil water." He refilled the kettle and put it on the stove. Once it was boiling, he poured it into a china bowl. "We have to wait for the water to cool for a moment. It is too hot right now!" Mikkel blew on the steaming water, and Lukas followed along, though he wasn't as effective as the man was. When the water was cooler, Mikkel said, "Finally, you get into the water."

Lukas got in, relaxing in the warm water. "Good," he murmured, dunking his head under and bobbing up again with a bright red face. "The water is warm, Mikkel."

"Fantastic! Now, in the water, you may relax as much as you want, but you must wash yourself everywhere with the soap," he said. There was a sliver of soap on the side of the bowl and Mikkel cut a tiny rag for him. "Tell me when you finish. I don't suppose you want privacy?"

The fairy didn't reply, not understanding again. The man picked up a book, opened it, and used it to cover Lukas like a screen. "Yes? Or," he removed it, "No?"

"Yes."

Mikkel propped up the book again and made himself scarce. He made use of this time, organizing his notes and writing down theories. Currently, he wasn't sure what he was doing during this study. There was no clear end, and he didn't feel comfortable with this. Again he feared making a connection. _When will I have learned enough?_ He asked himself. He recalled the questions he'd thought of earlier and wrote them down.

_1._ _Where do fairies come from?_

_2._ _What purpose do they serve, if any?_

_3._ _Why do they hide?_

_4._ _How do they sustain themselves in the wild?_

He tapped the dull pencil on the desk, looking over the four questions. He had so many more, but he told himself he'd limit it. He gave himself ten empty lines to fill, and that was all.

_5._ _How do they reproduce?_

_6._ _Is their anatomy equivalent to human anatomy?_

_7._ _Do they have the ability to feel a large range of emotions?_

_8._ _Do they mourn their dead?_

_9._ _What do they have to offer culturally?_

_10._ _Do they, as told in popular folklore, possess magic?_

Each question needed to be answered. Once that was done, he vowed to release Lukas.


	5. The Fifth Chapter

"Mikkel."

He turned to see Lukas drying off with a rag and trying to get his wet hair to cooperate. He shook his wings, trying to remove most of the water. They fluttered, occasionally stuck together, and drooped faintly. "What is it?" Lukas asked, pointing to his wings.

"Wings," the man replied.

"Wings. Wings," he mimicked. "I… wings? I… am wings."

"I _have_ wings. Have as in obtain. Hold." He lifted Lukas. "I _have_ you." Lukas nodded, pointing to his wings again. "I have wings. I have flowers," he chided, grabbing the stem of a potted flower. "I have good food here and I have you."

"Well, I suppose!"

"No, _I_ suppose."

Mikkel tried not to laugh, but the fairy was incredibly entertaining. The way he used new words and sang them out made him grin like he hadn't in a while. This was explained by the fact that science was always the thing that made Mikkel the most happy in his life. As a child, he rarely played with the other children. As a result, he could be off-putting. That wasn't to say that he was unkind or irritating. He was cheerful and had a positive outlook on life. But people picked at good qualities just as they picked at bad ones. At university, he had a few acquaintances, but he didn't have the time for friends.

Actually, he _never_ had many friends in his life. There was nobody to laugh or smile with, so he laughed and smiled alone, and it seemed he was content with seclusion until this very moment. It felt wonderful to have another person that could make him smile, if Lukas could be called a person at all.

While the days passed, Lukas learned more, and the storms stopped. Sun peeped through the clouds one morning and when Mikkel awoke, Lukas wasn't on the pillow beside his neck. In a hurry, he ran from his bedroom and into the main room, spotting the fairy flying into the house with a bundle of flower petals in his arms. "Mikkel, you are awake. I am hungry," he exclaimed.

"You haven't left!" Was all Mikkel could say. _He was able to leave and he stayed,_ he thought, overjoyed. "I am very pleased with you, Lukas. What would you like to eat?"

"Strawberries and milk. Only for me, and you have none," he teased, patting the man's cheek as he flew past and released the petals onto a plate on the table. Mikkel, still having none of his questions answered about fairies, thought that the creature might eat the petals, but he only stroked them nimbly, arranging them like a work of art. "I am hungry now," he repeated.

"I know, I know! You are turning into a bold little fairy, aren't you? Someone might mistake you for a full grown man with an attitude like one," he joked. "I'm sure you'd like sugar with your strawberries?"

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes _please._ "

Mikkel sprinkled sugar over the fruit and passed it to Lukas, who said, "Thank you," his manners improving. The man sat across from him, sipping a glass of milk. "You are very welcome," he replied. They enjoyed breakfast in silence, although Mikkel soon broke it with the questions he'd been waiting to ask until Lukas had the vocabulary to answer. "Do you remember exactly where you came from?"

Lukas looked up, wiped juice off of his face, and said, "I remember the flowers and the sun."

"The flowers and the sun? You were born with flowers? In flowers? Do you have a mother, Lukas?"

"Mother?"

Mikkel nodded, took out a leather book from his suitcase, and showed Lukas a picture of his mother, father, and older brother. "This is my mother. I came from her. I was grown as a part of her, and now I am me."

The fairy looked confused. His eyes were locked on the image of Mikkel's mother, a creature with hair piled high on its head and a big, flowery thing on top of that. It looked like Mikkel did, but different. It had a strange lower body. A dress instead of legs. "What is that?"

"This? That is my mother. She is a woman. I am a man."

"Women do not have legs?"

Mikkel stared at the image as well. "Oh, you're speaking of her dress! She has legs, they are beneath the dress. Beneath all of those frills."

"This is a woman. You are a man. I am a fairy."

"Well, yes!"

"Women wear dress and you do not. Men do not wear the dress and women do wear the dress. That is the difference?"

Mikkel chuckled weakly, rubbing the back of his neck and putting the picture away. "Exactly! That is exactly correct." It wasn't correct, but the subject was not one he wanted to delve into. "Now, did you have a mother? Did you come from someone?"

Lukas shook his head, then stopped, as if to think, then continued shaking his head. "I was in a flower. It was warm, then it was cold. I was…" he stood up, wobbling around for an example. "Moving this way."

"You were dizzy?"

"I was dizzy."

"And you came from a flower?"

He licked a drop of strawberry syrup off of his finger, wiped his hand on a big napkin, and finished his milk. "Yes. I think I did." Mikkel wrote that down, though it didn't seem possible that something so human could come from a flower, or any plant for that matter. As he drew a flower for emphasis, Lukas said, "Why?"

"Hm? Why what, Lukas?"

"Why you are asking?"

Mikkel smiled widely, saying, "I have never met a fairy! I would love to know as much about you as possible." The fairy contemplated, but was content with the answer. He didn't know any better. Mikkel was becoming his friend, meaning he couldn't keep secrets from him without feeling remorseful.

The fairy suddenly turned to the pile of petals he'd dropped, stacking them in his arms again and bringing them to Mikkel. "Do you like the petals?" He questioned. "I cannot take big flowers."

Mikkel wasn't listening, so he quietly hummed, "Yes, yes," and continued writing in his journal. The fairy watched him, narrowed his eyes, and put the petals back. They would turn brown and crisp tomorrow, he was sure. He had seen flowers when they wilted. Mikkel's that he'd potted were drooping already because he hadn't been caring for them in days. He'd forgotten to replace them in the window and their lack of sunlight was evident.

"The flowers," he told Mikkel. The man looked up at them, sighing in disappointment, but a forced sort of sigh that made Lukas whine. "Water the flowers," he demanded, pulling on the tip of Mikkel's nose as if that could move him. It took some convincing for him to stand and take care of the flowers at last. It was more likely than not that they couldn't be beautiful again. Lukas didn't dwell and he continued on with his day.

A few days later, after Mikkel had returned from a trip to the village, he walked to the storage room to put his new supplies away. There wasn't enough room for a sack of flour he'd bought and he removed a box from the corner. It was an attractive box. Upon pulling it out, he realized it was a music player and thought his uncle had forgotten it from his last visit. He'd have to write him later. But first, he wanted to listen to music.

"Lukas, look what I've found!" He yelled. Lukas woke from his nap and looked at the box dully. _That_ was the exciting thing that woke him. It didn't amuse him at all. "I am tired, Mikkel," he muttered. The man hushed him and set down the music player. "No, no! You'll like it!"

He took out a record from the slot inside the music player and turned the crank on the side. There was a golden circle that popped open. Inside were various small silver needles, one of which Mikkel placed in the shell, screwing it in with difficulty. When it was secured, he flipped the player on and gave the crank a few more turns, then he placed the needle gently onto the record, smiling when the sound came through the golden speakers on the sides.

"You see, the metal needle slides over the grooves in this disk and the grooves hold recordings through smaller notches in the visible grooves. The vibrations go through the dia—" He stopped, staring at the fairy who was perched over the record, watching it with a smile on his face. "What is this?" He asked, humming along to the tune.

"This is a phonograph. Well, a gramophone. My uncle bought it on his last excursion in America! Poor fellow must have forgotten it, but that's good news for us! We have music. Music. This is a song."

"I sing songs. This is a song, too. This is very good. Who?"

"Who sings the song?"

Lukas nodded, swaying with the piano melody while Mikkel picked up another record and scanned it over. "A coloured man, I think. His records are very good, aren't they?"

"What colour is the man?"

Mikkel cleared his throat and just shook his head, reaching another impasse. It was difficult enough to comprehend a thing like race and ethnicity as a human. "I'm not sure. Best not to dwell on it! Do you know how to dance?"

"Dance?"

"Yes, dance! You move to music. I'm not much of a dancer myself." He chuckled, pushed up his glasses, and turned the crank on the player when he heard the music slowing. "I'm sure you'd be a good dancer! You should try it."

"Show me dance," he suggested. Mikkel faltered. He hadn't been dancing in months. Perhaps a year. The last dances he recalled were the bunny hug and the 2-step. He saw them performed at a university party before his graduation, but didn't partake due to nerves. "Well, let's see what I can do," he murmured. With a deep breath, he danced, though it was wavering. "I'm terrible at this, but you should give it a try! It isn't a terribly hard step. You could follow along."

Lukas stood, watching Mikkel's feet as he danced on the loud wooden floor. His feet were quick and it was hard to keep up, but he managed and smiled faintly with each improvement to the dance. When the record was up, he flipped it and started playing the other side, watching the fairy dance. He didn't notice Mikkel, or that the man had stopped dancing completely, and he wouldn't have cared.

"You're a fantastic dancer! I can't believe it, Lukas. You learn faster than I do. I'll admit I'm very impressed," he said. Lukas stopped for a moment, brushed the bangs out of his face, and laughed breathlessly. "You are fantastic at dance, too. You look funny."

"Funny? Damn. I wasn't going for a funny dance."

"It is good, it is good! Do not act sad. No crying," he cooed, flying to Mikkel's face just to wipe away an invisible tear. _Teasing again,_ the man thought. The fairy landed on his shoulder and sat down, clutching his shirt so he wouldn't slide off and could rest comfortably.

"You're turning into a bully, huh?" Mikkel asked, glancing down at him. "I shouldn't have taught you any words."

"I like words, Mikkel."

"But you use them against me! You're a mean little fairy now," he mocked. Lukas huffed loudly, sprawling out on the others shoulder. Mikkel took the dance break to sit and write in his notepad what he'd learned. The record kept playing until the songs were over and the machine clicked, silence following. Lukas was no longer singing along, but he was still humming. Occasionally Mikkel could feel a knee or an elbow dig into his skin, but Lukas was relaxed.

_Loves to dance,_ Mikkel wrote, drawing a doodle of the other dancing gleefully in front of the music player. "Lukas, did you have fun? Lukas?"

He looked down at Lukas again. The fairy was sound asleep on his shoulder, no longer stirring or humming. Mikkel laughed softly at him. His arms were flung out to the sides and his face was buried into the others blue shirt. Instead of moving him, he turned to a new page in his notepad and gathered his coloured pencils. With a mirror in one hand and a pencil in the other, he drew himself and the fairy. When the piece was complete, Mikkel stared at it for a few minutes.

He wasn't interested in looking at himself, but his eyes were drawn to Lukas. His body was rising, falling, rising, falling, his breathing steady, and his cheeks were bright red. There couldn't have been a lovelier fairy alive. Mikkel, with a steady hand, reached up to touch the others back, a show of affection that he did mindlessly. It may have been that he was lacking sleep that he felt tenderness for the fairy. Even in his dazed state, his scholarly side told him to remove his hand and rid his head of any thoughts of devotion he might have had.

With a weak smile he took the fairy upstairs, laid him down on his pillow, and tried to sleep as well as he could despite his creeping emotions. He made a point to find a way to distract himself from them as soon as he could.


	6. The Sixth Chapter

The next days were difficult for Mikkel. Lukas' mind was catching up with his own and he was becoming too wise to the human world. When he talked to Lukas, it was similar to talking to someone from a different country instead of someone from a different species. It became more necessary to be ethical and professional. Lukas started to catch lies he told.

"Do you have more bread?"

"No," he replied.

"The oven is hot. I know there is bread in there."

Mikkel had to give him a piece of bread once it was out of the oven and cooled. There were still concepts that he was oblivious to due to Mikkel's lies. They weren't lies to Lukas, they were the only truths he knew, like that clouds were made of spun sugar, but they were too high to reach, and the reason why Mikkel had once been smaller was because the only thing that makes someone grow tall is a mother. According to Lukas, he was never smaller, never a child. He simply was one day.

He'd said he'd wished he had a mother so that he could be as tall as Mikkel was, to which he replied, "I like you as you are."

Lukas had been bringing in more flower petals. Mikkel kept having to sweep them off of the floor. "Why do you keep bringing flower petals into the house?" He finally asked. The fairy said, "A flower is too big for me to carry. The petals are for you."

"What would I do with petals?" He jested. Lukas's face fell, unbeknownst to Mikkel. After bringing in an armful of petals an eighth time just to see Mikkel sweep them away when he thought Lukas was out of sight, the fairy stopped bringing them in. The man thought nothing of it.

One day, while they were both down by the sea tossing stones into the water, Mikkel asked, "I suppose there is no reproduction for fairies, correct? Since you have no mother?"

Lukas buried his body in a patch of sand, humming and letting his hair whip his cheeks. "Reproduction? What is that?"

Mikkel almost said nevermind and was finished with the conversation, but he needed to know more about the creature, so he said, "It's when two creatures create one creature."

The fairy inwardly beamed at the idea. This was sounding pleasant so far. "What sort of creature?"

"The creature is the same sort as whatever the two originals are. For example, my mother and my father, a woman and a man, came together as one and created me."

"Created you?" Lukas shifted, letting some of the warm sand brush off. "How does one do that?" Once he knew how this was accomplished, he had his mind set on creating another fairy. It would be effortless, he hoped. Mikkel wasn't answering. "Do NOT think of a lie," he demanded, shooting a glare at the man, who laughed nervously and adjusted his glasses.

"Two creatures create another with their love."

"That's a lie," he hissed, standing and kicking Mikkel's ankle. "I can feel the lie."

"No! It actually isn't."

"Love. Hmph. How do I make one more fairy?" Lukas sat on Mikkel's knee, looking up at him and covering the sun with his hand. The man didn't want to answer. He already had the answer to his question, which was no, the fairies did not reproduce. At least, not as animals or humans did. "Once I study you enough, perhaps I'll know how to make another fairy for you."

Lukas wasn't satisfied with the answer, but he stopped questioning him and laid down, shutting his eyes and still needing to squint. Mikkel covered the sun for him with his hand, watching his small face relax. "I have another question about what it's like to be a fairy," said Mikkel. "Do you serve a purpose? Some humans believe that fairies bring a frost."

The fairy smiled a little at the statement. "Frost? That's the cold, yes?"

Mikkel nodded. Lukas flipped onto his stomach and curled up, yawning quietly. "I don't do any of the things you read to me in the fairy tale book."

That was only slightly disappointing. One could only be so disappointed when they'd discovered a fairy at all. "I have one more question," he said. "I promise it is the last and then you can take a nap."

He whined, but agreed and said, "What is it?"

"Do you possess magic of any sort?"

Lukas remembered magic from the fairy tale book. Sadly, even he didn't possess magic. "No. Maybe other fairies do. I could not give a woman a beautiful dress from my hand like in the story."

"I see. That's perfectly acceptable! Your existence at all is magic to me."

"You are silly," he said, rolling his eyes and shutting them again to sleep. "Be quiet. I am tired, Mikkel." Within a minute, he was asleep on his leg.

* * *

Soon, Mikkel had to go back into town for more supplies. Lukas had always stayed at the house, but this time, he wanted to go into the village as well. "Stay hidden and you can come with me," he said. To get into the village, Mikkel took a bicycle that his uncle kept just for the sole purpose of travelling around the island with ease. Lukas rode in the basket on the back until they came into the village, then he had to hide in the back of Mikkel's shirt. "Stay silent," he whispered.

The village was quiet and the market wasn't busy. Mikkel grabbed the supplies he could get over the counter, then walked up to the cashier to purchase the products and buy anything they had for a sunburn if anything at all. They kept candy on the counter and Lukas must have been peeking because he said, "Mikkel, get me the—"

He reached a hand back, sliding a thumb over his mouth. The cashier turned around and raised an eyebrow. "Did you need something else, mister?"

"Uh, yes! I would like a handful of that candy, please!

The man bagged a handful of hard candies and clicked on the register. "You got a sweet tooth?" He asked, putting some sort of ointment for burns into a bag for him. Mikkel nodded, giving a nervous chuckle. "Yes! Definitely a sweet tooth." Lukas bit down on his thumb and he grimaced, pulling his hand back. The man narrowed his eyes, but said nothing as he slid the bag over and counted his money.

"I've got this, uh… the sunburn, I mean, it's on my back," he lied. The man gave him back his change and said, "I hope it works out alright. You have a good day now, mister."

"You, too! And thank you, sir." When he was out of the store, he took Lukas out of his shirt, tossed him into the bag, and sucked the blood off of his thumb. Once the two were rolling along, he said, "You bit me! I can hardly believe it."

"Your thumb was in my way."

"Well you shouldn't have spoken! I told you not to and what do you do? You speak. Be more careful, please," he scolded. The fairy keened from inside the bag and popped up, giving him a look. "No, you stop that! I don't feel bad," Mikkel said. The fairy continued to look at him for the entire ride and at the end of it, his face twisted like he might cry. The man gave in. "Fine! It was my fault and I am terribly sorry for being unkind. Are you happy?"

The fairy chirped softly and sat on his shoulder, resting against his neck. "You were being upsetting."

"Alright, alright. I was being upsetting," he repeated, smiling as he carried the bags inside and gave him a piece of candy that was still overwhelmingly big for him. Mikkel unpacked the supplies and began to cook dinner. "Lukas?"

The fairy was trying to fit more of the candy in his mouth, but was unsuccessful. "What, Mikkel?" He dropped the candy onto the table with a soft thud and rubbed his jaw. "Is it a question?"

"Well, yes, actually! I don't mean to ask so many, but I'm trying to compile a book."

"Books seem good. Ask me the question."

"Why hasn't anyone seen fairies? Do you all hide?"

Lukas picked up the candy again, licked it a few times, and laid down with it in his arms. "I don't know. To be safe? I am small, you are big. There are scary things, like animals. I got hurt."

"What? You were hurt? When you were hurt?"

The fairy shivered as he thought back to a run-in he'd had with an animal. He couldn't recall the name. It wasn't nearly as big as Mikkel, but it was big enough to hurt him with its sharp teeth. "A wolf hurt my neck," he exclaimed, pointing to a scratch on the back of his neck. Mikkel examined it with a microscope. "Lukas, we don't have wolves here. It must have been something else. It wasn't very big, from the looks of it."

"I was afraid, Mikkel. It was big."

"I know. I understand you were afraid, Lukas. I don't mean to offend!"

Lukas grumbled something intelligible, but didn't seem upset otherwise. Mikkel finished cooking in silence and gave the fairy his food. Once he'd eaten, he said, "Feelings. A feeling to hide when you hear a noise behind a tree. And fear. That is why I ever hid."

Mikkel wrote down his answer. He could have guessed the answer himself, but he wanted to hear it from the fairy and not assume, but his assumption would have worked. The fairies hid on instinct, just as animals did.


	7. The Seventh Chapter

Later that night, when it was time for both to sleep, Lukas looked uneasy. Mikkel didn't ask why, although he could notice and was concerned. "Goodnight, Lukas," he said, blowing out the lamp. Lukas didn't reply and the man thought he had already fallen asleep.

In the middle of a dream about a holiday he'd taken years ago, Mikkel was awoken by a shriek that made him sit up straight in his bed. His heart pounded against his rib cage and he looked around, fumbling with his matchbox to light the lamp. When he surveyed the room, there was nothing, but Lukas was under his blanket. "Lukas?"

The fairy wailed loudly. His body fidgeted and he didn't come out from the cloth cocoon he'd made until Mikkel put a hand on his back. When he tossed the blanket aside, Lukas was crying and muttering between shaky breaths. Mikkel lifted him up, held him in his palm, and kept him close. "What is it?" He asked.

"I could see the wolf and I woke up," he whined. Mikkel rubbed his eyes, stood, and carried him downstairs with a lamp in tow. "Lukas, there are no wolves on the island." The clock read two a.m. and even knowing how early it was made Mikkel groan. "Tell me exactly what it looked like."

"It was white and brown and had yellow teeth and long hairs coming out on its cheeks," he said, wiping away his tears. "It had sharp teeth. They were as big as my head."

"Lukas, how big was the wolf?"

He stood up, flying less than a foot away. "From where I was to here. It was long." Mikkel smiled faintly, containing his amusement. "Ah. So," he held his hands up, showing him about eight inches of space between them. "The wolf was this big?"

The fairy nodded, settling in Mikkel's palm again. The man took out his notepad, his pencils, and set the lamp down close to the paper. He drew out the animal and said, "Is this what it looked like?" Lukas stared at it and cried again. The man closed the book, laughing nervously. "Sorry! Sorry. Don't worry! It was just a weasel, it wasn't a wolf, and if I'm here, a weasel isn't going to get to you. They're afraid of me, you know."

"They better be," he choked out. Mikkel wiped a tear from his cheek and carried him back in the bedroom. "A weasel could never get into the house! If it did, I'd pick it up and toss it out! It would be afraid of the both of us."

Lukas relaxed in the others hand, refusing to get off when Mikkel tried to put him down. "I don't want to sleep," he said, giving Mikkel a glare and grasping his ring finger. "Not after that."

"Lukas, I'm sorry, but I am really, _really_ tired."

He just gave him a blank look, then his eyes lowered and he wiped at them as if he was going to cry again. "Alright, alright, Lukas! I suppose I'm not too tired. Ah, I have an idea! I'll continue to hold you if you answer another question. But it should be thorough!"

"I suppose that's okay," the other said, closing his eyes and yawning. Mikkel leaned against the bedpost, covered up, and set his hand down on his thigh, thinking of the questions he'd written. "Let's see. Is there such thing as fairy culture? Do fairies have special dances or songs? Or foods?"

Lukas hugged his hand, moving a finger down so he could be more comfortable. "I think all of the fairies must make noises. Singing is a noise. There is no… thinking for language. There is no words, or speaking."

Mikkel nodded faintly. That explained why Lukas couldn't talk at all when they first met.

"Mikkel, I need to say something. It's about your questions."

"Yes, what is it?"

He looked over at the wall, shaking his head. "I do not know the answers," he admitted. "Why do you care? You told me it was because I was a fairy and you want to make a book. Mikkel, I," There was a pause and Mikkel watched him, ghosting a finger over his back gently and giving a reassuring smile. "Mikkel, fairy tales are not right."

"Well, they are stories, yes. Why do you bring them up?" He quizzed. Lukas licked his lips, shook his head, and shut his eyes. "Magic is not real," he murmured into his hand. Mikkel raised an eyebrow, looking at his face to read his expression, though he went through long apathetic spells where he was nearly impossible to see through. "Why do you say that magic isn't real? You're real!"

The fairy was silent again. This time, he didn't speak for a moment, and when he did, it was strained. "I am not magic. I am an animal. Like the butterfly you showed me yesterday."

"You're tired, Lukas. You'll feel better once you get more sleep."

"I am an animal. I cannot answer your questions."

"I don't mind at all that you can't always answer the questions thoroughly. I think it would be easiest for me, but I want to hear your thoughts on yourself. There is no pressure behind them."

Lukas didn't respond this time. He didn't mention that Mikkel was the only human who had glasses covering his eyes, something he'd noticed in the village, and he didn't mention that he had a collection of pinned insects in one of the cabinets that had been left open. When Mikkel had shown him a butterfly, he had prodded at it and picked at it, and it reminded him of his own treatment by the man. He had been smart enough to keep his thoughts to himself.

"Are you alright, Lukas?"

Lukas wasn't. Tears rolled down his cheeks and his breaths shook, but not enough to be noticed. He nodded and curled up, burying his face in his knees. Mikkel watched with interest. He expected the fairy to speak again, but he was silent. After a minute, the man rocked him back and forth, cradling him in his palm and blowing out the lamp again in hopes that both would be able to sleep again.

When Mikkel woke up in the morning, he opened his notebook to his list of questions about the fairy and drew a line through " _do they have the ability to feel a large range of emotions?",_ eliminating it completely.

As the days passed, Mikkel noticed that Lukas seemed more distant and he couldn't understand why. He thought that he'd accidentally mistreated him. Perhaps fairies needed to be comforted differently than humans did, but that didn't seem to be the case, either. When he tried to ask Lukas what comforted him, he shrugged and didn't answer.

It was depressing to see the fairy this way. Mikkel wanted to change his mood any way possible. Whenever he gave him sweets, that almost worked, but not quite. When the behavior appeared to be endless, Mikkel confronted Lukas about it. "You are upset, I can tell," he said. The fairy started to fly away, but the man grabbed his leg and pulled him back down. "Lukas, please talk to me and tell me why you seem to be so upset with me!"

Lukas stopped struggling and dropped into his hand with an exasperated sigh, but he wouldn't speak, and Mikkel couldn't make him speak. After a minute of being ignored he released him and watched him flutter over to the fireplace so that he could lay across the mantle for a nap.

While he was sleeping, Mikkel decided to continue his study of butterflies, something he had been doing off and on since Lukas' arrival. He managed to catch one, a type that he hadn't been able to catch since he came to the island, and brought it over to the microscope. It fluttered rapidly, trying to escape, and it was making the study difficult. He finally had to trap it under a jar. Of course it still tried to escape the jar, but eventually it settled at the bottom.

Mikkel sketched it out, humming softly under his breath so that Lukas wouldn't wake. When he lifted the glass, he expected the creature to fly away, but it was still. He tapped it with his finger as lightly as he could, but it still didn't move, not one bit. He realized it was dead. It might have been that he kept it in the jar too long. Either way, he picked it up and slid it under the microscope, spreading the wings apart with a pair of forceps and prodding at the form with another sharp tool.

"What did you do to the butterfly?"

He turned to see Lukas watching him from the mantel, his eyes and nose stained red. It looked like he had been crying, but his expression was blank. He flew over to the microscope and touched a butterfly wing softly, trying to get the creature to wake. When it didn't, he began to worry. Not just for the butterfly, but for himself. "You are terrible," he hissed.

"Lukas, you must understand that—"

"You hurt her. Look, you hurt her," he said louder, taking the butterfly in his arms and kicking the jar. Mikkel didn't stop him when he put the creature onto the windowsill. "Do not touch her."

"Now listen—"

"You want to put me in the jar and hurt me, I know it. I saw the ones you have pinned in the box. Let them go," he said lowly. Mikkel gave him a curious look, watching his eyes.

"Lukas, I study them. I am a scientist. Humans study animals and insects and bugs so that we can understand them. Sometimes, something bad happens. I do not want to do something like that to _you."_

"I don't believe that," he said shrilly, pushing on the butterfly again, trying to get it to leave. "Leave," he whispered. "Leave, leave."

"I think you should calm down, Lukas."

"I think you should close your mouth, you big... idiot!"

Mikkel rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Listen to me now. You are not an insect or a bug or a butterfly, you are nearly human."

"Why do you kill them? What makes it good?"

Finally, he stood up from his chair and cupped Lukas in his hands, holding him tightly. "They are not aware of death, and we are."

"Death?" He questioned. "What are you saying?

Mikkel simply stared at him. There was never a silence so thick as the one he experienced when he realized that Lukas wasn't aware that he, like everything else that ever lived, would cease to exist one day. He couldn't remember a time where he thought he would never pass, but he could remember a time where there was never a day in the year where he worried about it. Death was a pain, often literally, but the worst part of the entire experience was knowing that it was going to happen.

He refused to let him feel that pain. He tried to teach Lukas everything, but he refused to teach him about death. "Lukas," he started softly, "Death is when an animal or a bug or a human like me goes into a deep sleep."

The fairies face relaxed and he sat in the others hand. "The butterfly is okay?"

"The butterfly is absolutely okay. So are the insects pinned in the box! They were sleeping and… I didn't want anything to hurt them outside. Like the weasel! And I took them and am keeping them safe."

Lukas looked away, but he had a small smile on his lips. After a moment, he said, "I'm sorry. You are not terrible, Mikkel." The apology actually made the man feel more terrible than the insult, but he forced a smile and set him down on the table, patting his head lightly. "No need to apologize, Lukas. Go back to your nap and I will cook you dinner when you wake up, alright?"

The fairy nodded, laid down, and began to sleep again. Mikkel swallowed a knot in his throat and rubbed his temples. He took a bottle of liquor out of the cabinet, grabbed a glass, and sat at the table. The first drink went fast, the second went slowly, and by the third, his head was on the table and he was muttering insults at himself.


	8. The Eighth Chapter

**The Eighth Chapter**

* * *

From then on, Mikkel couldn't look at any living thing like he used to. When he saw a butterfly fly away when he came too close, he just nodded in agreement, thinking, "I would have done the same." The thought resonated in him, he was getting little sleep, and it was _him_ who was distant. Lukas was much more content, though, and noticed that Mikkel wasn't smiling as much.

"What's wrong?" The fairy asked one day while Mikkel was outside washing clothes. He didn't look up from what he was doing, but his eyes darkened and he shook his head. Lukas sat on his shoulder and pulled on his ear gently. "Tell me."

He dropped the shirt into the soapy water and wiped his hands off on his pants. The sun was beating down, making him sweat. He glanced at the sky, squinting at the bright clouds as he stood up to go inside. "Mikkel!"

"You would not understand, Lukas," he murmured quietly. Lukas sighed, kicked him in the cheek, and grabbed his nose, not leaving his face. Mikkel stopped in the entrance and pulled him off. "You really want to know, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Fine. You'll have it then. If you're an animal, then I'm an animal as well, and of course humans are a type, but there is no true difference between myself and a mouse, is there?"

Lukas thought the question over, and after a short while he simply shrugged and said, "Why do you care?"

Mikkel scoffed and went into a rant, saying, "Mice are vile and they don't act on intelligence or emotion! They act on instinct!" The fairy didn't know what he could say to make Mikkel feel better. It seemed like a strange thing to be upset over.

"Are you going to cry?" Lukas asked. Mikkel could hear a negative tone in his voice. The words were almost harsh. It made him stand a little straighter.

"Of course I will not _cry,_ " he murmured. "I am not sad about this thought, just concerned."

The fairy sat on the table, simply watching the man while he poked at the fire in the stove with a metal prongs. He was doing this for minutes, and it was clear he was thinking again about his reason for his actions. After a while, he said, "How would someone describe the desire for knowledge?"

Lukas said nothing, but began to nibble on a cherry while he listened to Mikkel talk about things that he knew nothing about.

"Animals don't care for learning. Perhaps that is our difference! But maybe we are conditioned for knowledge." His face fell again, but his thoughts were rolling and he kept talking. "Although there must have been a moment for this conditioning. Someone, or some group who had the desire to learn! What do you think, Lukas?" He turned to stare at the fairy, who by now had finished a fourth of the cherry and was mid-bite.

Lukas wiped the red off his lips and put the cherry down on the table. "I don't know. I like to learn," he sighed.

Mikkel shut the door to the oven and sat down with the fairy, staring at him as he picked up the cherry again. He snacked on it some more, accidentally bit the pit, and turned it to the fresh side so he could continue to eat. By now, he was used to the man staring, but when he looked up at noticed how focused he was, the fairy set the cherry down again and huffed. "Stop looking when I eat."

The man didn't speak. He only smiled.

Lukas squinted, trying to reason with that sly smile, but there was nothing he could find that should make him think that Mikkel was up to something suspicious. He went back to eating the cherry. This time, he managed three bites before Mikkel scooped him up and patted his head with one finger. The gesture was confusing, but comforting.

"Why?" he asked, letting his head continue to be patted.

Mikkel was only smiling wider. It might have been how nice Lukas was. Or how amusing. Or how much he didn't care. For whatever reason, the man appreciated the little fairy for being the way he was, and he was in every way fantastic. "Lukas, I have another question for you."

Lukas sat in Mikkel's hand, looked up, and said, "Okay."

"What would you do if one of your kind were to d—"

The word was _die,_ but he remembered the lie he'd told Lukas about death and realized that the question couldn't be efficiently answered. But maybe he could re-word it to make it similar.

"To what?"

"To… leave you forever. Perhaps they flew to another island very far away and you never saw them again. How would you feel about this?"

The fairy closed his eyes. He imagined having another fairy to be his friend. It would be a boy that he could treat like a brother and they would fly everywhere together and play games and sing. Then he imagined having the brother leave one day. There would be no more games or songs. It made him feel terrible to imagine. "I do not like it. I feel sad about that, Mikkel."

"But you had been alone for years, correct?"

Lukas had no concept of time and couldn't answer. It might have been that he was seven years old, but it easily could have been seven weeks, all the same. "Is a year longer than this time with you?"

Mikkel laughed and shook his head at the question. "Yes. Imagine this time that we've spent, but doing it nine more times. Then you would have one year. A day is from sunrise till the next sunrise, and there are three hundred and sixty-five days in the year."

Now that Lukas had a better understanding of time, he thought back to the moment of his creation to today. There hadn't been many sunrises before Mikkel. There certainly wasn't enough to make up a year. "I haven't been alone too long," Lukas admitted. "I'm new."

"How new?"

"Less than three hundred and sixty-five days."

Mikkel looked down at the paper, writing in more notes slowly. It was unbelievable that Lukas could be so young. It was easiest to believe that he didn't fully grasp the concept of time yet. It made Mikkel think of a child, but a child couldn't have learned so quickly. The fairy developed rapidly, in fact.

"What did you do during those days when you were alone, Lukas?"

The fairy rubbed his head, apparently becoming annoyed with another question. He leaned back, picked up the cherry again, and peeled off some of the skin. He let a leg dangle off the side of Mikkel's hand as he sucked some of the juice out of the fruit and thought back to the days before coming to Mikkel. "I looked around at the flowers and trees. I tried to find food. I tried to fly around the sea but I was too tired. Then I saw your window."

"So you decided to stop at my house? Why did you want to?"

Lukas shrugged and said, "I had only seen one other house and I could not see inside."

Mikkel turned the page, wrote down the quote, and drew a little picture beside it. "You wanted to explore the house, then? Interesting." He wrote down a little note that said, "Adventurous." The fairy looked at the word, but thought nothing of it.

"I am very, very glad that you came into my house that day."

"Why?"

"Why? Well, I… I simply think you're a good guest! And you're fascinating."

Lukas was silent for a moment. His eyes wandered over to the window. The sun was behind the clouds, but it was still bright and Lukas was squinting. "Mikkel, I like—"

He stopped talking, his eyes widened, and he dropped onto the table. Immediately he clutched onto the back of Mikkel's hand and tried to hide, murmuring, "Get it outside. Get it out, get it out."

"Get what out?"

He pointed at an insect that was buzzing around the window sill. It stopped on the wall, crawled around, and then buzzed over to the side of an unlit candle. Lukas flew to the opposite side of the room and yelled, "Take it away!"

Mikkel stood up and walked over to the bug. It was a large wasp, not a bee as he expected. Normally, he would have tried to capture it, but this one was larger than usual and he didn't want to risk a sting. He grabbed a book off of the table to hit the wasp, but he couldn't hit it when it was on the candle. He hesitantly poked it with the edge of the book and it flew towards him, landing on his shirt.

"Oh, damn! Hell, hell," he muttered worse profanities under his breath as he brushed the wasp off. Without a second thought he opened the book and slapped it closed around the wasp. It was probably crushed flat. He walked over to the window, scraped it off into the grass, and shut the window, laughing nervously. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Lukas wasn't by the wall anymore. Mikkel looked around until he heard a tapping noise coming from a vase. He looked down inside it and saw Lukas sitting at the bottom with a panicked look on his face.

"The wasp is gone. You can come out!"

"Wasp?" Lukas murmured the name under his breath again. "I hate wasp. They try to hurt me when I go near them. They are NOT butterflies."

"Of course not. Wasps sting."

The fairy came out of the vase and sat on the edge. His breathing was still quick, but he was calming down from the run-in with the wasp. "How did you get it to go?"

Mikkel fidgeted and flashed a slight grin. "Ah, I captured it and released it," he lied. Lukas looked over at the closed window in relief, then flew over to it and looked out as if there might be an entire swarm of stingers ready to attack him, but of course, there was nothing.

Lukas looked back over his shoulder at Mikkel, who was sitting down at the table and opening up a book. He flew back over to him, perched on his shoulder, and patted his cheek. "Thank you for helping me," he said. The words were shy, but also thoughtful. Mikkel glanced over at him, smiled warmly, and set his book down.

"I could never let one of the wasps get to you! I am invested in this," he remarked in an oddly worded sentences that made Lukas think that there was more for him to say after the word "this", but he said nothing more and looked down at the table again. The fairy grabbed onto his glasses, looking into them from the outside.

"Mikkel, I am invested in this, also," he chimed in. The comment made the man chuckle weakly and want to give the fairy a hug, but of course, he was so small, and Mikkel only lightly tapped the top of his hand. The gesture should have been more comforting to the fairy, but it was dissatisfying and he latched onto Mikkel's fingers when they were close enough, hugging his hand for just a moment before letting go and pretending like it never happened, and although it was a short lived show of affection, the man was beaming.


	9. The Ninth Chapter

Mikkel had been kinder to the fairy from that day on. Every morning when he woke, he patted the fairy on the back, and when he fell asleep at night, he did the same. He could no longer see a reason why the fairy should be treated any differently than he himself would treat another human.

In fact, Lukas was treated better. In Mikkel's eyes, he was a perfect creature, someone who never faltered, even when he did, and could never bother or annoy, even when he did. There wasn't a person more pleasing on Earth for Mikkel than the small fairy, and for the next week, he didn't let him out of his sight.

One evening, the two were sitting in front of the fireplace and watching it crackle and burn. Lukas mentioned the way he enjoyed the drifting heat and pulsing ashes that were roasting on the bottom. Occasionally he would leave his place on Mikkel's leg and he would flutter closer, but when a flame leaped from its place once and nearly hit him, he was far more cautious.

The fairy rested his chin on Mikkel's knee, kicked his legs up, and his wings quivered with a gust of heat. Mikkel was reading from a book that he held to the side. When he felt the fairy roll onto his side, he took a glimpse at him. He eyes were following the flames, it seemed. The man removed his glasses, set them on the side table, and said, "Sometimes, it almost looks like some of the flames are dancing. That's what my brother believed when we were younger, at least."

Lukas yawned softly and nodded in agreement. He was silent for a moment, but only for that before he piped in, saying, "What sort of dance?"

Mikkel raised his eyebrows. He had no answer for such a peculiar question. He turned to the fire, examined the flares, and chuckled. "Well," he began cheerfully, "I think they do the tango. They do an exotic dance."

"Exotic?"

"Strange. Weird. Unfamiliar. Different," he said, trying to explain what he knew about that word. Lukas repeated, "Strange, weird, unfamiliar, different, exotic," then flashed a small smile up at Mikkel, who returned one and looked to his book again.

The night continued like this until it was time for bed. Their arrangements had changed within the past week, though, and now, the fairy preferred to sleep on Mikkel's chest instead of his spot on the bed. At first, the man had protested. "It is not professional at all to be sleeping so close," he suggested, but when the fairy lightly punched his bottom lip and curled up on his chest, he couldn't refuse.

The next morning, when Mikkel was cooking breakfast for himself and the fairy, the latter was outside, presumably buzzing around the flowers and singing to them, as he often did. Mikkel shouted, "Lukas!" From the doorway, and he flew back to the house with little flowers in his hands.

"I was able to pick these flowers for you, Mikkel," he said. He sounded breathless. It surprised Mikkel to see the flowers in his arms, because he had learned over the past weeks that the fairy valued them and didn't like to see them picked. Either way, he set the flowers beside Mikkel's plate that was already set and full on the table.

Lukas' plate was full, too, and he took a bite of a small chunk of bread. He dabbed at the sides of his mouth with his little napkin, cleared his throat, and said, "Do you enjoy the flowers?"

The man hadn't yet looked at the flowers. He was too focused on his meal and watching Lukas eat his. He picked up a wispy white flower that was as tender as the fairy himself. It was wilting already. He tucked it behind his ear, smiled at the fairy, and the fairy smiled back, a full smile that the man wasn't sure he'd ever seen.

After breakfast, the fairy flew outside again, and Mikkel walked down to the sea and sat down at the shore, tossing stones out onto the still water. He followed the ripples all the way to his feet. Today, he didn't have his notepad out with him. He was enjoying what the warm day had to offer.

"Mikkel," a little voice said. He turned to see Lukas on his shoulder. He was carrying more flowers in his arms. Before Mikkel could question his motives, he began to tuck them behind the man's ears. He didn't protest. By now, he was aware of the fairies quirks, though this one was new.

Soon, the flowers were packed beside each side of his head and the fairy couldn't fit anymore. He looked Mikkel over, patted his nose, and sat on his shoulder. "You look better, Mikkel," he said. The man laughed, lightly touched the petals of one of the flowers, and reached up to hold the fairy in his hand.

"Lukas, I only have one more question," he said to him. The fairy laid down in Mikkel's hand, looked up at him, and said, "What is it?"

"Well, it is about how you are built. It is an anatomy question. Or, easier, a question about your body. Is it equal to the body of a humans? Save wings, of course!"

Lukas looked as if he didn't understand the question. Perhaps Mikkel had thought too much of him. He said, "Do you have this?" He lifted up his own shirt and pointed to his naval. Lukas squinted at it, then looked down at himself. He could see no skin, either way, due to the wrappings that covered his torso tightly. With much hesitation, Lukas began to tug at the wrapping.

"No, no! That is not necessary by any means!" Mikkel protested, but the fairy kept pulling, huffing and whining until he was able to peer past a small area of the grass-like wrapping. Mikkel couldn't contain his curiosity and looked down at the tiny area of skin showing. It was red and must have been raw, because when Lukas tried to touch it, he winced like he'd burned himself and pulled his hand back.

"You don't have one, then?"

Lukas shook his head and tried to put the piece of wrapping back, but it was detached now and wouldn't go. The fairy tossed the bright green piece onto the rocks, then looked up at Mikkel and keened. It was loud enough for Mikkel to panic. He picked up a flower, flattened the stem, and tied it around the exposed stretch of skin on Lukas. He stopped keening and patted the stem, but tenderly.

"I think it would be smart to apply medicine there, Lukas," Mikkel said. He carried the fairy inside, set him down on the sofa, and found the ointment he'd used on his sunburn in the cabinet. He removed the stem from around Lukas' waist, and covered the red stretch of skin with the medicine. Lukas winced and kicked Mikkel's hand, yelling, "Stop that!"

Mikkel smiled nervously, then retied the stem. "All finished now! Does it feel better?"

Lukas didn't want to admit it, but his skin felt a little better. He took a deep breath, laid down on the cushion, and said, "Do you want to take a nap?"

The man looked over at the clock. It was still morning. He looked at the fairy, picked him up, and stretched out on the couch. He yawned softly, covered Lukas' body with his hand, and shut his eyes.

After a half hour, Lukas was fast asleep, and Mikkel was daydreaming. His daydreams were usually about making scientific discoveries that could earn him a prize and a spot as a professor at the best university, but now, he daydreamed about more fantastic things, like magical creatures and adventures that he could have. And, of course, he dreamed of Lukas.

He realized that he was too attached, but he was confident that he could find a way to remedy this. For now, he was enjoying the fairy. He could almost say that he adored the fairy, but would never admit it. Never in writing, and never vocally.

Mikkel didn't want to leave the fairy in a month. He would have to return for the class he was teaching at the university. He had originally told himself that he would let the fairy go whenever he had asked all of his questions. The last one had been asked today. That meant Lukas was supposed to go free, but the man couldn't bring himself to let the creature go.

Whether this was wrong or right, the lines had blurred. One side of him believed the scientific discovery to be so great that it would be foolish to let Lukas go back to the wild. If he never saw another fairy again in his life, which was likely, he would surely regret letting this one go. The other side believed that it was wrong to keep the creature with him. It seemed selfish and corrupt, like keeping the animals from a safari and putting them in a zoo.

The scientific side of him was the strongest. It was necessary to cage animals for scientific studies. Lukas wasn't an animal, and Mikkel certainly never caged him. He only ever treated him with kindness. It could have been that the fairy didn't want to leave Mikkel, for all he knew.

He hoped this was correct, because he had decided then that the fairy would belong to him now. Whether their relationship grew into a strong friendship or withered back to the state of scientist and specimen, releasing Lukas would have been a terrible waste of both affection and knowledge.

* * *

A few more days passed and they were uneventful, but enjoyable. Mikkel taught Lukas more things about popular culture, such as clothing, music, and the cinema. The cinema intrigued the fairy and Mikkel promised that one day, he would take him to see a film.

This day, in particular, was partly cloudy, but the sun still came out at the best of times. Mikkel was reading a book of stories aloud to Lukas, who was lying on the windowsill, watching butterflies and bees soar by the glass panes. He nibbled on a sticky piece of candy, as well, and often turned to ask the man questions about whatever story they were on at the time.

In the middle of answering one of Lukas' questions, there was a knock on the door. It startled the two, but especially Mikkel, as he knew that there were never visitors on this side of the island. He set the book down, looked out the front window, and opened up the door.

It was a young man. In his hand he held a blue envelope with a silver seal. Mikkel recognized the seal from the university.

"This letter says urgent," the young man said, handing the letter to Mikkel. He took it, tipped the man, and returned to his spot on the sofa. Lukas flew over, poked the wax seal, and said, "What is that?"

The man only shrugged and replied, "A letter from the school."

Mikkel peeled the envelope open, took out the letter, and frowned. Lukas tried to read over his shoulder, but the words were too hard for him and he said, "What does it say?" But the man didn't answer. He tossed the letter onto the ground and hurried over to the table. He gathered a stack of papers, his notepad, and a few pencils. "Damn," he whispered. "Damn it all."

Lukas tried to sit on his shoulder, but he was moving so quickly around the house that he didn't trust the stability of it and remained where he was. "Mikkel, what is it?"

"I am behind!" He shouted. "I have four reports due on four different insect species and I have written only a half journal full!"

Lukas listened, but didn't quite understand. Jobs and duties made his head hurt. He sat down on the desk just as Mikkel sat down in the chair in front of it. He was skimming through a thick book, talking softly to himself, and scribbling frantically.

For hours, Lukas said nothing to Mikkel. He knew that he was busy now and didn't want to interrupt him. When the little hand was on the seven, though, Lukas' stomach was grumbling. He patted Mikkel's arm softly, saying, "Mikkel, I am hungry."

The man shushed him quietly and continued his sentence. After Lukas started to whimper, the man stopped, stood, picked up a chunk of bread, and gave it to Lukas. After the brief exchange, he got back to work and said nothing to the fairy.


	10. The Tenth Chapter

For the next few days, Mikkel was constantly writing, reading, and researching. The only breaks he took were to grab Lukas another chunk of bread. The fairy was growing more and more anxious by the minute. On the fifth day, Mikkel was writing into the night. He had moved in front of the fireplace so that he could see what he was writing. The two journals that he had already finished were sitting on the corner of the man's desk.

Lukas was sitting on top of the books, watching the clock tick. It was past midnight now and he was tired, but he had grown so accustomed to sleeping on Mikkel's chest and didn't like the idea of going to bed without him. He was concerned about his health, too. Beneath his eyes, there were splotches of pale purple and an ugly yellow from his lack of sleep, and he wasn't smiling like he always did.

The fairy chewed thoughtfully on the bottom of his lip. After a few moments of silence, he flew over to the window and squeezed through the crack on the side where Mikkel had left it open. It was pitch black outside, but Lukas was determined to find a flower. He came to rest on the bud of a wildflower, then tugged on it with all his might.

Lukas just knew that this would save Mikkel from the daze he was, and finally, after the long days of silence, the man would speak to him again and pat his head and feed him delicious foods, not just tasteless chunks of bread. He tossed the flower over his shoulder and carried it inside. _"It is the perfect gift,"_ he thought to himself.

The man was still hunched over in his chair by the fireplace, murmuring occasionally. Lukas stood next to his hand and poked his finger with the flower stem. Mikkel looked at him for a moment, then looked back at his paper again.

Lukas was a persistent little fairy and he brushed the petals over Mikkel's fingers. Again, the man stopped. This time, he said, "Lukas, I wish I had time, but I do not. I need to finish this. The letter said that these were to be complete in two weeks so that they could be reviewed before incorporated into a lesson."

The fairy didn't fully understand. He was beginning to feel ignored and it was like nothing he'd ever felt before in his life. This was a bad feeling. But he didn't want to upset Mikkel, so he sat down again on the books and was quiet.

For a few minutes, he hummed and drew pictures on the side of Mikkel's paper. He seemed to be content with this until he saw a shadow on the wall next to the window. The source of the shadow was a large bug that was flying close to the wall. It looked like a wasp and it frightened him. He tapped on Mikkel's hand, murmuring, "Mikkel, Mikkel, Mikkel," until the man finally had to look down at him.

"What is it now?" He questioned. In his voice there was a sound of annoyance, but Lukas didn't notice. He was far more concerned with the monster that was soaring towards the kitchen table. He wailed, hit Mikkel's wrist with his hand, and said, "There is a wasp!"

The man shook his head and began writing once more. Lukas watched him with wide eyes. Perhaps Mikkel hadn't heard him. Perhaps he had forgotten what a wasp was and how dangerous they were. Lukas kicked his wrist, yelling, "Mikkel!"

Over and over, the fairy pulled and pushed on his wrist. He wouldn't move. He remained rigid and focused on his work. Lukas, in a fit of rage, grabbed Mikkel's thumb and bit down into the fleshy muscle of his palm.

"Goddammit, Lukas!" Mikkel drew his hand back and knocked the fairy off of the table with the back of his hand. In the process, he had knocked off his completed journals from the side of the desk, and they landed in the fireplace with a pop and crackle. Lukas, on the other hand, had no time to catch himself from falling, and landed on a stone that was far too hot. It burned the back of his arm and he yelped, pulling away from the intense heat.

The man knelt down and at first, the fairy thought that he was kneeling for him, but he reached for the tongs on the side of the fireplace and hurriedly took out the two journals. He dropped them on the floor, stomped them out, and yelled, "Look what you've done! Do you realize that I'll have to work twice as hard now?"

Before the fairy could answer, the man scooped him up, walked over to the window, and pushed him out. He slammed it shut and clicked the lock. "You stay out there and think about what you have done!"

Lukas was still clutching the burn on his arm and trying to push on the window with his shoulder. He pressed his face against the glass, whined, and scratched on the window. "Mikkel," he cried. "Mikkel, I want inside!" It had been so long since he'd had to sleep in the dark. He longed for the warmth and comfort of the house and for the man inside, but now, his back was turned to Lukas and he was tending over the charred journals.

_"He does not want me anymore,"_ he thought, _"He is through with me."_

Upon the realization that the man no longer wanted his company, the fairy wept, and he fell to his knees on the windowsill. He sat there for a few minutes, crying softly all alone with his back pressed to the window.

_"If he does not want me, I will go,"_ he thought. With a final glance back, the fairy flew off into the dark night.

A half hour later, Mikkel closed his book and walked over to the window. He flipped the lock and pushed open the side. "I suppose that is long enough. Come on inside and we can go to bed," he said. But the fairy wasn't near. The man called out, "Lukas?" And there was no reply. There was the light whistle of a summer night, the chirping of insects, but no keen, cry, or lament of the fairy.

Mikkel lit a lantern and walked out to the field, careful to look where he stepped as he pressed on, but the fairy was out of sight. "Lukas! Where are you?" He shouted. He was struck with worry. For an hour he searched, looking in every tree, bush, and flower patch. His voice was hoarse from yelling. He decided, soon, that he would go back to the house and attempt to sleep. The fairy would surely show in the morning.


	11. The Eleventh Chapter

The next morning, the fairy still didn't show. Mikkel decided to wake earlier than usual, as he expected Lukas' arrival. At ten, his heart was aching. At noon, he was beginning to panic. He had never meant to frighten Lukas, he had just been furious before. If he would have known that he would run away like this, he would have been kinder.

Once again, the man trekked outside and began a new search. He yelled for the fairy over and over again with his broken voice. There was never a reply. Now that the sun was shining brightly above and he could see much better than he could have the night before, he wandered past the field and into the trees. He never wandered here, but thought it would have been worth a look.

"Lukas? Please!" He shouted through the trees. A bird sang in the distance. A butterfly fluttered next to his cheek. But there was no sign of the fairy. He looked at the butterfly again, a faint smile forming on his lips. He stepped towards it, admiring its vibrant colour as a distraction from the disaster at hand. It stopped on a large, old tree, then flew away.

Mikkel watched the butterfly, then turned with a deep breath to the tree. He almost turned away, but something on the trunk caught his eye. There was a shallow carving that was just below his chin. It looked like an "X", or perhaps a cross. It was presumably a mark from a hunter, and Mikkel continued on his way, flattening a few flowers as he moved on.

The man, after hours of searching, found nothing and went back home to work on his journals. As much as he wanted to focus on finding Lukas, he had to finish his work. Throughout the entire time he was writing, his mind was going off on tangents. There wasn't a minute in the day that Lukas wasn't in his mind. When the sun went down and the stars began to shine, he closed the journal and held his face in his hands.

_"This is all my fault,"_ he thought. _"I was so cruel to him!"_ He despised himself for what he'd done to the fairy. Mikkel worked on the last bottle of liquor he had in the house. At least it numbed the pain for now. He stumbled around the kitchen, holding the little things he'd made for Lukas and things he used. The bowl he bathed in, the lid he used as a plate, a half-eaten candy.

When he fell asleep last night, which he ended up doing on the sofa, he held the items to his chest, singing drunkenly to them.

Five days passed. Mikkel had finished three journals and only needed one more. That was the only relief in his life. The entirety of his being was miserable. He didn't know how he was supposed to leave soon to return to the city without the little fairy. He had made so many promises to him that he felt as though he needed to keep.

Lukas was supposed to be with him as long as he could. For as long as Mikkel could care for him and make him happy. He no longer desired to profit off of him or study him. He wanted his friendship and nothing more. That was his only wish.

Lingering in the back of his head was a dark thought that something bad had happened to Lukas. It could have been that a weasel or a wasp hurt him and he was somewhere on the forest floor, crying out in pain. Mikkel wasn't there to help him.

Mikkel cleared away the tears in his throat. He denied them. It would have been ridiculous to cry. Lukas was safe, most likely, singing to some flower that he thought was beautiful. The thought made him smile weakly, but did little for his nerves.

After that week passed, so did another, and Mikkel had only one week left at the house on the island. He had finished his journals and had sent them off to the university so that they could be reviewed. He had done a lousy job due to his lack of focus, but the head of the science department was sure to look past it.

He had nearly given up on Lukas returning. There was still a small amount of hope left within him, but it seemed more like a pipe dream than an actuality. As long as Lukas was satisfied, wherever he was, then the man supposed that he could be content as well.

Later in the evening, when the sun was just above the trees and still sinking, he sat next to the window, listened to music, and began to draw pictures to capture the moments that the fairy had during his short stay.


	12. The Twelfth Chapter

Mikkel filled the last pieces of paper with beautiful images of Lukas, and when he was done, he looked out the window to watch birds and insects fly by. He no longer tried to capture them. He only admired them from afar. One could say that he'd learned his lesson.

When the sky darkened just slightly, the man made himself a pot of coffee. He stood over the warm stove, poured himself a cup, and sipped it slowly. If he wouldn't have been so focused on his drink, he would have noticed the silhouette in front of the window. Luckily, he turned his head when he heard a light tapping on the glass.

Mikkel turned to see Lukas standing on the windowsill. His face was bright red and his cheeks glistened as if they were wet. In his arms he held a lush red flower that must have been twice the size that he was. The man stood watching, awestruck by the creature.

"Mikkel," he said with a smile. The fairy flew over to him, but the weight of the flower pulled him down, and the man had to catch him before he hit the ground. Nothing had given Mikkel so much joy in weeks as seeing the fairy again. He cupped him in his hands, telling him sweet things over and over.

"You could never understand how much I've missed you." "I am going to treat you much better from now on." "I thought about you every day, you know." "I am so happy that you've finally returned to me!"

The fairy beamed at each remark. He was panting quietly and finally sat down on Mikkel's palm. "Mikkel, this flower is for you. I picked it all by myself. Do you like it? I thought it was the prettiest one."

Mikkel nodded, took the flower, and immediately put it in the best vase he could find. "It is the most beautiful flower I have ever seen in my life. I love it! I… I adore it!" He announced with a chuckle. The fairy smiled softly at him and rested his cheek on the man's finger, squeezing it tightly.

"Mikkel, I missed you."

"I missed you, too!"

The fairy curled up and closed his eyes, smiling even wider and baring his sharp teeth. The smile made Mikkel smile again and he said, "Thank you for coming back to me, Lukas. I promise I will take good care of you from now on. I will take you to the cinema whenever you want and we can listen to music every single day and you can have all the sweets you want. Whenever you want them, too!"

Lukas let out a breathless laugh and said, "Can I have a sweet right now?"

The man didn't hesitate for one moment. He took the brown bag of candy out of the cabinet, took out a cherry drop, and gave it to Lukas. The fairy didn't reach up to take it, but said, "Put it here. Next to me."

Mikkel did as he was told and set the candy down on his finger in front of Lukas' face. The fairy opened his eyes slightly, looked at the shining candy, and tried, as he always did, to fit more of it in his mouth than he could. He was able to take a crumb from it and he kept it locked in his mouth, letting the syrup that he had been craving since he'd left overwhelm him.

"Is it good? You look happy! After that, I can make you some warm bread and some soup and some pastries. How does this sound?"

The fairy smiled softly. "You are so nice, Mikkel. You are a flower." He closed his eyes again, and let his wings fall. The minute that his wings fell flat against his back, his smile faded, and the candy slid out from between his lips and onto Mikkel's palm.

"Lukas?" Mikkel gently tapped his shoulder, but he was still. The man's eyes widened and he brushed a fingertip over Lukas' hair. "Lukas? Are you asleep?"

The creature only lay limply in his hand. Mikkel stared at his form for just a moment, taking him in. He knew he was repeating Lukas' name, but couldn't feel himself doing it. It was automatic, like a cry. He tried again to wake the fairy. And again. And again. And even when he knew it was in vain, he kept trying. But Lukas wouldn't wake up.

"Lukas, I never meant…" The words caught in the man's throat and he brought the fairy close, pressing his tiny form close to his cheek. "Lukas, please. Please wake up," he choked out. He ran his finger along Lukas' back comfortingly, though there was nothing to comfort anymore. In another desperate attempt, he tried to sing to him, but it was all useless.

Mikkel's eyes were blurred with tears. He felt that this was all his fault. Something bad had happening to Lukas when he was alone, and now, he was dead. He wrapped him up in a thin tea towel and set him on the mantel in a way that looked like he could just be asleep, and that was just comforting enough for Mikkel to not be consumed by how sad he felt.

He sat down at his desk, buried his face in his hand, and grieved. He let his tears fall freely and didn't bother wiping them away anymore. "This is my fault," he said aloud. "I shouldn't have been so harsh. I should have protected you."

Mikkel wiped his nose on his sleeve, rubbed his eyes, and stood up. He took the fairy in his hand again and said, "I have never cared about anyone so much in the world as I've cared about you, my little fairy." He then, just as he did when Lukas had cried before, cradled him in his hand and told him goodnight.


	13. The Thirteenth Chapter

"Professor, is this essay five pages or eight? It was not clear to me."

Mikkel erased what was on the chalkboard, then turned to face his student with a faint smile. He sat on the front of the desk and said, "The paper is only five pages. Please enjoy your holiday."

The student smiled, nodded, and left the classroom. Mikkel looked down at the notes and books scattered across his desk, then sat back down. He slid the glasses off of his face, wiped them clean with his coat, and put them on again. He organized his things into his briefcase, then stood up and walked over to the window.

His breath covered one of the small panes and he drew a face with his fingertip. Snow was gathering on the windowsill and was fluttering to the ground, covering the grass in soft, white tufts. The groundskeeper was going around with a bag of salt, sprinkling handfuls onto the frosted sidewalks as if it did any good.

The man put on his hat and knotted the scarf around his neck, growing cold from just looking at the huddled students passing beneath the window. He walked outside and began walking to his home, a large house that had been built with many others for professors who were brought in to teach and weren't seeking permanent residence.

Mikkel walked up the snow covered steps, opened his door, and closed it with a breath of relief. The maid could be heard shuffling around the kitchen. She brought him a cup of coffee and said, "The house has been toasting all day. You are quite picky about the warmth, sir."

The man chuckled, wiped his cold nose on his sleeve, and removed his winter clothes. "I suppose I am. I have something for you. It is just a little something."

"If you try to give me another bonus, Mr. Densen, I—"

"Perhaps it is just a card! Please accept it, ma'am."

The maid took the card, slid it into her pocket, and gave Mikkel a hug. She was a brittle old thing, and when he hugged her back, he did it with the intention of not making her more fragile than she already was. He helped her into her coat and her boots, lightly kissed her cheek, and escorted her down the front porch.

Once the man was alone, he locked his door and made his way up to his bedroom. This was something he had done every single day since his arrival. He stopped occasionally for coffee when it was prepared for him by the maid, but if it wasn't offered, he marched straight up the staircase after he walked through the door.

His bedroom was the warmest room in the house. It had maintained a snug heat since October. He had been very specific about the heat being kept well in this room. He walked over to his desk and took a seat, moving his eyes over the cluttered mess on top. On the corner of the desk he kept a box with a golden lock, and when he opened that box with a key that he kept in his pocket at all times, there was another little box with another little golden lock, and that key was hidden behind a picture of his brother he kept in the other corner, and when that second box was open, Mikkel pulled out a silver butter dish with the lid still on top.

The dish was perfectly polished and shone in the light beautifully. When the man took the cover off, he smiled faintly at what was inside.

Lukas was placed perfectly in the butter dish. On top of him were many flowers that were wilting. Mikkel picked them off of him, threw them away, and took out a small bouquet from his suitcase. With a pair of scissors, he cut flowers from the bouquet and set them on top of Lukas. He brushed a finger over his cheek, smiled again as if the fairy could see him, and covered him again with the lid.

Before Mikkel had left the island, he had faced a predicament. Bury the fairy, or keep him. He had told himself that if he kept the fairy, it would be for research, but that wasn't the case. He had been in his makeshift coffin since the summer. His body wasn't decomposing like a human body might. The green, plant-like wrappings on his body had withered in October and were able to be peeled off with ease in November, and when this had occurred, Mikkel had bought him a nightshirt that had been made for a doll.

Other than the loss of Lukas' wrappings, he was untouched. The only thing that Mikkel noticed was that when the fairy was placed in the sunlight, he looked healthier, and the man blamed that partially on his coming out of a flower and somehow being connected to plant life. On the sunny days, Mikkel would place him out on the windowsill and watch him the entire time until he shone again like he had when they'd first met.

Nobody else knew that Lukas existed. He had hidden his journals away, too, so that nobody could know that the fairy ever was. Mikkel couldn't bring himself to mention the fairy to anyone else. He wasn't sure which effect was worse, belief or disbelief.

"Mr. Densen, I forgot my—"

Mikkel flinched so hard that he nearly dropped the butter dish. Luckily, he closed it before Lukas could be seen and put it back into the box. "You startled me! What did you forget, ma'am?"

The maid tilted her head to the side, as if she was trying to see why Mikkel was so jumpy. He cleared his throat and escorted her down the stairs. "I bet you forgot your hat! Was that it? The hat with the daisy on it?"

The lady nodded, sat down in the man's parlor, and he poured her a cup of coffee. "You caught me at a very bad time! You see, while I was away for my holiday, I found a rare insect and have been keeping it secure. I hope you startling me didn't startle you!"

The maid gave him a smile and sipped her coffee. "Perhaps at first. Scientists are always oddballs, though. The good ones, I've noticed. I have seen strange things before in the houses here."

Mikkel laughed, patted her shoulder, and handed her the hat, which he found on the stove. She often left it on the stove. She put it on, finished her coffee, then talked Mikkel's ear off for another hour. He, being the polite man he was, nodded and smiled, even sharing a story or two. When she left again, he locked the door and went back upstairs to tend to the fairy that he had crudely placed back inside the box.

After tending to the fairy, the man didn't know what else he should do. Christmas was growing near, but unlike the previous years, he did not anticipate it. While his mind was always quick to daydream about his mother's pies and pastries and roughhousing with his brother, it was now quick to imagine what spending the holiday with Lukas would be like. He would have loved Christmas if he would have made it till then.

Mikkel knew these thoughts only made him melancholy and he pushed them aside.


	14. The Fourteenth Chapter

Christmas passed, as did winter, and when the snow melted, Mikkel was back to work again with his insects and his lectures. He was enthralled in his work to the point where he often forgot to check on the fairy in the box.

Once, after he had forgotten him for five days, he checked on his body and was surprised to see that it looked different. While he had not shown signs of decomposing save looking far more pale and thin, now, he had specks of green forming on his skin. Mikkel lifted him from the dish, but not with ease, as it seemed that his flesh was melting onto the base, and when he had to remove him, a soft, green substance stuck to the bottom. Something damp and cool, like moss.

The man tossed the fairy onto his stomach and held him in his palm. The skin underneath was green. The back of his legs, the back of his arms, the base of his neck, and so forth. Mikkel shuddered and lightly tapped the substance. It felt tender, just like a flower petal from a blossom that hadn't received enough sunlight.

Without a second thought, Mikkel took him to the windowsill and set him in the sunlight. This did little good. The man, despite feeling as though he was no longer strongly effected by Lukas' death, felt as though he might choke. It seemed that the fairy was finally meeting his point of decomposition. The man felt silly for being so upset, as it was bound to happen eventually. If not beginning at the moment of his death, then soon. Perhaps he was lucky to have been able to keep Lukas as well as he did for so long.

Most scientists would have thought it best to save the fairy for experiments, but the thought crossed Mikkel's mind completely. He could not imagine himself doing something so disrespectful to the fairy. No, he would have to be buried.

The thought of burying Lukas made his heart ache. He realized this wasn't healthy, and that he should have buried him immediately. If he would have, he wouldn't be facing the pain he was facing today. It was no good to dwell on it, either. He went downstairs, looked for a shovel, and came back up. He decided that he would take the fairy to the nearest forest and bury him on the outskirts where nobody could dig him up or find him again.

"I suppose this is good-bye. Again," he said as he cradled the fairy in his hand once more. Mikkel pet his cheek, then patted his head. There were tears in his eyes. This had to come to an end, though, as did every good thing.

Mikkel, overwhelmed with grief, lifted the fairy up to his lips and without a second thought, he planted a soft kiss on his back, one of the only places his lips could fit on the others tiny body. He then walked downstairs, wrapped the fairy up, and walked outside. The sun was still bright and vibrant. A perfect day for Lukas if he could see it.

As the man began to make his way down the walk in front of his house with the fairy in tow, he heard something small. Almost a whine. He looked around, whispered, "I beg your pardon?" and when there was no reply, he continued.

The noise rang out again, but louder. His eyebrows furrowed and he looked down at Lukas, squinting. For a moment, there was silence. "Hello?" He questioned. There was a low keen, then a very quiet, "Hello?"

Mikkel turned on his heel and walked back into the house with a hop in his step. He slammed the door shut, locked it, and unraveled the cloth. "Hello, hello?"

"Hello, hello, Mikkel," the fairy chimed. He picked some of the cloth off, stretched, and yawned. He was relaxed, as if he hadn't a clue what had happened. When he noticed the green colour on the back of his legs and arms, he said, "I need a bath."

The man didn't know what to think, and he began to laugh and cry out of joy and relief. Once again, he kissed the fairy right on the back with a resounding smack, and Lukas watched on curiously. "What are you doing?"

"I am giving you a kiss! I have missed you so, so much. I thought you were…" He paused, then said, "I thought you were gone forever. You were asleep for so long."

Lukas looked around, becoming aware that he was no longer in Fejø, but in a new house that was dazzling and glaring with beautiful things he'd never seen before like shining porcelain teacups and silver figurines. There were glittering lamps that seemed to shine with no fire. "Mikkel, what is that?"

"What? The lamp? It is electricity. It is hard to explain. But it is similar to magic, I think," he answered, taking the fairy over to the lamp so he could examine it. He lightly tapped the glass shades, stroking it slowly. It was slightly warm, but nothing like a fire. "I like the lamp."

"That is just a lamp! There is so many more things here."

"Where is here?"

The man chuckled and carried Lukas into the kitchen. He set him down on the counter, took out a loaf of bread, and started rolling a slice flat. "We are in the city. More specifically, at my house. You were asleep for a very long time. Winter has already passed. It is spring now. I'm sure you are very happy to hear that!"

The fairy nodded and looked around. There was a silver teapot to his right in which he could see his reflection. When he noticed he wasn't wearing the green wrappings anymore, he felt out of place and tried to wrap himself up in a little towel. "Where did they go? I can see too much skin."

Miikkel covered the bread in butter, then sprinkled it with sugar and put it on a sheet. "You lost them. They peeled away. I can have clothes made for you, though! I have a nightshirt around here somewhere. I will get it soon." He put the bread in the oven, then picked Lukas up and patted his head lovingly.

They were silent for a moment. Lukas was reclined and humming, and Mikkel was too focused on his own happiness to think about anything else.

"Mikkel, sometimes you bother me very much," the fairy admitted. The man raised his eyebrows, scoffed, and began to laugh quietly.

"I beg your pardon?"

Lukas took a drink from a thimble full of milk that the man had given him, then said, "But I feel love for you."

The man smiled softly and said, "I also feel love for you. You are very important to me." He took out the slice of bread, cut it into small pieces, and set some of them in front of Lukas. He began to eat quickly and sloppily, scarfing down the food like he had when Mikkel first met him.

"I am so hungry," he muttered, almost choking on a crumb because he was eating so fast. Mikkel nodded and said, "I can see!" He poured Lukas more milk, then handed it to him and started walking into the main room. "Follow me."

The fairy clutched the little cup and flew after him, his eyes finding something new to look at in the house everywhere he turned. He sat upon Mikkel's shoulder, sipped his milk, and leaned against his neck. "What are we going to do now, Mikkel?" He asked. The man smiled, glanced at him as best as he could, and said, "I think we will go see a film."

After they saw a film, ate plenty of good candy, and listened to hours of music, they went to bed, and Lukas fell asleep on Mikkel's chest like he had before.


	15. The Fifteenth Chapter

Now that Mikkel knew more about the fairies, more than he would have liked to know, he began to set forth trying to create another. He had learned how they came into existence when he returned to the island for a week in spring, and really, it had been an accident.

Lukas was sitting next to him in his laboratory, and he was wearing the little suit he'd had made for him and his hair was combed back. "How do you suppose we do this?" The fairy asked. Mikkel patted his head, took out a syringe, and tied a belt around his bicep. He felt for a vein, then made a mark on it with a pen. "I am going to remove a syringe full of blood, then we will take a little amount from you. I have no syringe your size, so if—"

"I can use a knife. Do not doubt me, I am just as eager as you to see the results."

Mikkel slid the needle into his arm, took his blood, and pushed it out into the flower pot. The blood gathered on the top at first, then sunk into the soil. Lukas took a small pocket knife, cut open his arm, and let the blood drip out into the pot as well. When he felt that he'd given enough, he extended his arm to Mikkel, who wrapped it tightly.

"How long must we wait?"

"Be patient, Lukas. It will grow eventually."

Lukas took a seat in a little chair, crossed his legs, and sighed. "I would like a boy."

"Perhaps it doesn't work at all. We will see."

The fairy walked over to the packet of seeds and read the label. There was a chart that stated when the flowers would grow, and when Lukas realized that it would take months, he groaned and rested his forehead on the flowerpot. "Mikkel, what will we do if it does not work? Will we try this again or will we give up?"

The man picked the pot up, put it in the window, and sat down at the table again. "We will try again. But I hope you are not discouraged! We have to keep a positive attitude!"

Mikkel's positive attitude lasted him till there were green sprouts popping out of the soil. The fairy had woken him up that morning with an excited shout and forced him to open up the lab because he'd seen the sprout in the window while he was out for a fly. The man looked at the beginning of the flower, examined it with a microscope, and nodded.

"I want you to look through the glass and tell me what you see."

Lukas did as Mikkel asked. The plant was light green, white at the base, and flimsy. There were thin veins. Some were dark green, others were red, and a larger one that ran down the center and likely down through the roots was soft blue. When Mikkel set the microscope back on the table, Lukas tenderly stroked the sprout, whispering to it things that the man couldn't hear.

There were a few days in the next weeks that were cold and cloudy, and Mikkel had to use an electrical light to maintain flower growth. Lukas was especially kind to the plant on those days, and he would spend half an hour singing to it. Of course, the man recorded this action in his journal.

He had his concerns about whether or not the flower would produce a fairy, but he didn't express them to Lukas. He could tell how invested the fairy was to that flower, and if it were to not turn out as they had expected, he wasn't sure how Lukas could cope. Hopefully, he would be understanding.

A few days later, Mikkel looked into his laboratory, as he had to check on the flower, and he saw Lukas sitting down on top of a handkerchief in the flower pot. There was another handkerchief around the base of the flower, supposedly keeping it warm, and a dull but sweet lullaby rang through the air. The man watched him, grinning the entire time and deciding that the flower was already under a watchful eye.

By the time the flower had a bud, Lukas was sick with a cold and couldn't make it to the laboratory for a few days. Mikkel wouldn't allow it, as he had no idea how a sickness could alter the flower if it could do so at all.

He spent some time with the flower, watching it, moving it from light to shade, and watering it. It began to look wilted on the third day that Lukas was sick, and when Mikkel noticed, he contacted a horticologist at the university, begging him for answers, and he said that he hadn't a clue what was wrong if it was getting the proper amount of sunlight and water.

Mikkel sat down in front of the flower, turned it in his hand, and sighed softly. "Lukas does not want you to die, you know," he whispered, "but he is ill. I cannot sing as well as he can, but if you would like me to try."

The man started humming, too embarrassed to sing, and looked around to make sure that the door was shut and nobody could hear him. Once that was sure, he sang softly to the flower, a lullaby that he'd heard the fairy sing many times before. The flower didn't change, but Mikkel continued to sing for an hour until he thought he'd fall asleep at the window.

The days before the flower opened were hectic. Mikkel got a fresh journal, a new tin of coloured pencils, and was already sketching out the flower. He had prepared a lesson to teach the fairy English, made them a little bed, and was looking through the notes he had made about Lukas when he had been found.

When the day came that the flower blossomed, Lukas was singing beautifully everywhere he went and wouldn't stop until Mikkel took him into the laboratory so that they could find the fairy. To both of their surprise, the flower blossom was small. Smaller than expected. It might have been the size of the man's thumb. Lukas frowned once he realized, and was hesitant to approach the pot.

"Would you like it if I checked the flower?"

The fairy shook his head and settled down into the soil, watching the soft petals bounce from the draft. He took one step closer, then his eyes were teary and he looked like he might weep. "The flower is empty."

The man frowned, walked over, and patted Lukas on the back softly. When Lukas began crying, he had no idea how to handle such sadness. "I suppose we have a flower, yes?" He offered. Lukas wiped his tears and shook his head, turning away from the man. Mikkel understood his pain and turned away towards the flower pot. He hadn't yet seen the blossom closely.

It was a beautiful, delicate blossom. He put his fingers on the edge, pet a petal, and looked inside of it. His eyebrows furrowed slightly and he brought the plant closer. He stood up quickly, grabbed his tools out of the cabinet, and shined a light into the flower. There was a thick layer of pollen at the bottom, but it was too much. The flower shouldn't have produced as much as it was.

"What is it, Mikkel?"

The man didn't answer. He took a small brush, dusted off the pollen, and heard a squeak. He drew the brush back, looked inside again, and saw something very small and very displeased. He tilted the flower back gently, and a small fairy rolled out onto his hand. The minute it touched his flesh, it cried.

"Mikkel, what is that? Why does the fairy look like that? He is small! He is absolutely tiny! And his head is disproportionate. Oh, we have created something different, haven't we? We have ruined everything."

The man laughed and wrapped the new fairy in a handkerchief, although that was too big for it. "No, it is just a baby fairy. It will look just like you do, I am sure. I—"

Mikkel was examining the pollen covered creature as gently as he possibly could, and from what he could see, the fairy had no wings. Lukas must have noticed, too, because he was over quickly and running his hands down the child's back. "He is such a lovely creature. You aren't being gentle enough with him, let me have him."

The man held the fairy out to Lukas, who took him and cradled him. He sang to him sweetly, and his crying stopped. Mikkel scribbled in his journal, then lightly patted Lukas' back. He must have been incredibly pleased, because he was smiling from ear to ear and swaying back and forth with the child.

"Now you have a brother as well, Lukas."

"But he is also your brother. It was your blood, too."

The man kissed his index finger, pressed it very carefully to the baby's chest, and said, "You know, this is very good, but I have realized something."

"What is it?"

Mikkel stood up, took both fairies in his hand, and started to take them upstairs. "Now that there is a child around to cry, we will have to tell the maid that she isn't just hearing the wind outside."

* * *

**Not quite the end . . .**


	16. The Creation of the Fairy, Lukas

Sigurd Thomassen was a young man who was born into a prominent family in the north. Upon his fifteenth birthday, he was written into his grandfathers will as successor to his company. The company produced sheet music, musical booklets, and the sort. The business was successful, and the grandfather was one of the wealthiest men in the city.

Despite being named the successor, Sigurd found no pleasure in business. There were two things he found pleasure in. One was baking, and the other was dancing. While he desired to dance, he was born with delicate ankles, and was denied entry into a school for performance.

Before Sigurd could attempt to follow his dream of baking, he was swept into a whirlwind that was the death of his grandfather. Creating delicious foods for others was no longer on his mind, and instead it was fortunes and "willed to him" and "willed to her".

Sigurd, being his grandfather's favorite and his successor, was left his vast fortune. While some members of the family were pleased, others were jealous. It didn't seem right that Sigurd should get both the fortune and the company. They kept quiet about this, and Sigurd could sense no resentment.

Weeks after the death of his grandfather, Sigurd received a letter in the mail. It was from his cousin, a man who lived in Denmark. Sigurd had only met his cousin once, and hardly knew him. The letter stated that there was a chest of things that had belonged to their grandfather, but the chest was far too heavy to be shipped, and someone must come down to sort through the items.

Sigurd sent the letter back, suggesting that the cousin keep the contents, but the cousin wrote back, saying that there were ancient books, boxes of jewelry, famous paintings, and more. The word had spread that the cousin had these riches in his grasp, and every person in the family agreed that they needed the items in the chest sorted through and brought up to the city.

Sigurd sent another letter, saying that his cousin ought to ship each piece separately, that he himself would volunteer to pay for them with the money his grandfather had left him, but the cousin refused in his next letter, saying that he did not trust the carriers to not steal such valuable items, and that one of them should come down to Denmark to visit him.

Although Sigurd wanted nothing from his cousin and didn't care for what was in the chest, his family suggested that he go, as he was young and it was important that he see the world before he became too old to do so.

Sigurd set out to Denmark, eager to see what was supposedly so important that he had to leave his home for three weeks. Once he stepped off the carriage that had taken him to his cousin's home, he could not believe how beautiful the house was. He began to walk up the path, but was stopped by the man himself.

He was a wide man with crooked teeth and a crooked pair of spectacles. He put his arm around Sigurd's shoulder and led him back towards the road.

"Good to see you! My God, you've gotten big," he exclaimed, patting Sigurd on the stomach. The young man nodded slightly, gave the cousin a look over, and stepped into a carriage that he'd flagged off of the road.

"I thought it would be best to lighten the mood, hm? I know the best pub in town! I know you will love it. A growing boy like you must have a few drinks a day, hm? A few drinks?"

Sigurd shook his head slowly and said, "Only at mass." He hadn't meant it to be comical, but his cousin chuckled and put a hand firmly on his shoulder.

"Ah, you will have an excellent time! You'll be thanking me after this."

Sigurd highly doubted that statement, but stayed silent. When they arrived at the bar, he expected his cousin to pay the driver, but he stepped out and was silent for the first time since they'd met. Sigurd paid the driver, thanked him, and looked dreadfully at the pub. The sun was already going down and the lights in the building were bright.

"Perhaps we should go elsewhere," the young man said. His words were ignored.

The bar was loud and bustling later into the night. Sigurd had managed to abstain from drinking in the beginning, but eventually, once offered a glass of honey-coloured liquor, he took a drink. It was so foul that he spat it out onto the floor, earning laughs from those around him. He turned bright red and drank the entire glass in response. His cousin clapped him on the back, but didn't offer him another. Sigurd was glad. He was sure that if had to drink another glass, he would be severely ill.

A few minutes passed, and the bitter taste had faded, but now his stomach was aching, although it felt nothing like illness. It felt like he had been hit. He tapped his cousin on the shoulder and said, "I am feeling very ill. I think it would be best if we left now."

"We can't leave now! The party has just begun! Ah, I remember my first drink. There is a door right over there. It leads to an alleyway where you'll be just fine if you need quiet or you think you're going to be ill."

Sigurd shoved past the crowd and stepped outside into the dirty alley. It smelled like rotting food. He rarely faced such filth and it made his stomach churn. He leaned against the wall for a while, trying to control his breathing despite the cold air burning his throat.

"Sigurd?"

"Yes?" He answered. When he turned from the wall, he expected his cousin, but instead there were two men calling his name. One stood on his left side, and other on his right, and both were very intimidating.

"You are coming with us," the first said. The second clutched Sigurd's shoulder, holding him in place. The young man tried to shove that one off, but he was too strong and retaliated by knocking him to the ground.

"Let me go, you criminals," he said, squirming in the grasp of the first man. They both looked at each other, then at Sigurd. The young man couldn't tell what they were thinking, and he was trying to be brave, but he was frightened. The first man lifted him to his feet and handed him to the second, who held him by the arms.

"What do you want? I have money. I can give you money," he offered. His voice trembled and a large tear slid down his throat, but neither cared. The first man took out a gun, then shook his head and put it back. Sigurd sighed in relief, pleased that the man had no intention to kill him.

"I promise I will give you all the—"

Suddenly, Sigurd felt a sharp pain in his side. He looked down to see a knife in his side and his white shirt stained dark red. His breathing picked up and he tried to cry out, but his mouth was covered by a rough hand, and again he felt the knife, but it was no longer on his side. This time, it was across his neck. Tears rolled down his cheeks and his neck felt warm from the blood seeping out of the fresh wound.

Once the man released him, he fell to his knees, then collapsed onto the ground. He was limp there, and his eyes were squeezed shut. He heard the door to the pub open and footsteps. "What is going on?"

It was his cousin. He could have cried in relief. He almost shouted to him, but then heard, "I never told you to kill him." His face fell and he started weeping silently. The first man knelt down, grabbed Sigurd's face, and said, "Look! He isn't dead at all. He's crying. You see?"

"You slit his damn throat! You did a bad job, but look! And you've stabbed him! He is useless to us now. We can't save him. You idiots! Nobody wants a dead hostage!"

"Look," the second man said. "We will cut off his hand, send it to his family, and that should be enough for them to send the money for him. I am sure they know where he keeps his fortune."

Sigurd tried to sit up and scoot away, but he had to hold onto the wound on his side. He tried to say _please,_ but it wouldn't come out. "You know," started the second man, "This is for the best. If you sent him back, he would tell the police, and we would be on the run."

The young man attempted to beg for his release, suggesting that he would tell no one of this night if they were to let him live, but his words fell.

"Take him somewhere and bury him. I am sure that he won't last. Remove his hand. It could be of use if we choose to pursue the money more… persuasively," the cousin said.

Sigurd cried out in agony as he was lifted to his feet and taken over to a carriage. The second man tied him up, shoved him in the back, and slammed the door shut.

Sigurd was losing blood rapidly, and the carriage ride seemed to never end. He rolled onto his side, closed his eyes, and began to cry again. He did it softly, so that the men couldn't hear. His stomach and side were aching, and the lack of blood made his head spin. He buried his face into the cushion, curled up as small as he could get, and whispered wishes under his breath.

He wished he could be somewhere else. He wished he was free. He wished his family was safe and content. He wished that the men would be merciful. He wished he could fly away. He didn't want this to be his last day. He wanted to eat good food again, to dance, to sing, to fall in love someday.

As his mind began to falter and he felt himself slip further into unconsciousness, he could almost taste pastries again. Feel the touch of his mother. The soft sway of his body from soft, sweet music. It all lulled him.

Once his eyes were shut, they never opened again. The men took his left hand and put his body into a crate. They took a ferry onto an island, sure that if the young man was buried there, he would never be found. In the early morning, they wandered into the forest, finding a large tree to bury him under. The hole wasn't dug deep, but it was enough to fit his body in. They removed anything of worth from his body and threw him into the ground. They packed the dirt on top of him, then covered it with grass and flowers to disguise the freshly dug grave.

The second man turned to go, but the first took out his knife and, feeling more sentimental than the other, carved a cross into the tree above his shallow grave.

Time passed and the family of the young man was still grieving their loss, and would for the next coming years. On top of Sigurd's body grew a patch of flowers, each one more beautiful than the next, and it could have been that they were so beautiful because they grew from the blood that pumped through his heart, which was a very pure one.

In the springtime, months after he'd been buried, an especially lovely flower grew right out of where his heart used to be, and it was red and luscious. From the flower came a little creature, a fairy that was only as tall as a woman's hand and as light as a twig. He stretched his arms, fluttered his wings, and looked hopefully out at the bright, warm day.

The fairy would go on to do many wonderful things and meet wonderful people, but there was one mystery in his life that was never solved, and it was that because of his peculiar case, one could never know if he was a fairy, or an angel, and by the time he ceased to exist on this Earth, everyone who had known him would say the latter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End.


End file.
